Locked Up
by Love Out Of Lust
Summary: Ste is imprisoned and meets Brendan. This is inspired by the wonderful fic "Held Captive" by Mamalaz. Note: This is not meant to be an accurate depiction of prison life.
1. Chapter 1

_Day 1_

* * *

The door shutting behind him sounds like the loudest thing in the world. He's trapped, no two ways about it. Within an instant he feels like all his freedoms been taken away, and he's no more than a caged bird. It's suffocating. He's not one for panic attacks, but he could have one right here, right now.

The cell feels incredibly enclosed, and as sparse as he'd guessed it would be, just a bed and the barest essentials. The sheerest amount of light is coming through, but it still feels dank and dark. His home now for the next few months.

Ste's never been to prison before, but he can't say that he never saw it in his future. He'd been told plenty of times by his step dad Terry, _"there's only one place you'll end up boy, and it's going to be surrounded by coppers."_

He'd even wondered what his own kids thought of him, whether when he came home with stolen goods they realised that the nappies and food were nicked from the shops. He knew it was illogical, that they were too young to work out what was really going on, but that gnawing fear still existed in his mind.

Ste didn't _want_ to do these things. He hated lying to Amy about it, hated living under her roof and pretending that he had a job somewhere in Chester. It was becoming harder and harder to deceive her, and make up a whole host of reasons why she couldn't come and visit him at work. He'd become angry with her in the end, telling her to butt out, that he was under a lot of stress from his manager. He felt like scum when she would later apologise to him.

The fact was, Ste _did_ want to work. He wanted to meet new people, to earn money, to feel like he existed for a purpose. It wasn't fair that Amy should have to provide everything from her job in College Coffee.

He had tried for months to apply for anything, from working at a cafe to a supermarket, to cleaning the toilets. Either he was turned away immediately because of his criminal record - a short stint in young offenders for joyriding - or he'd get the job and then be let off a few weeks later, for his "behaviour." Ste knew he had problems with his temper, that he wasn't good at listening to instructions. He got sick of people having a go at him for his dyslexia, and punching one guy who'd called him stupid hadn't exactly endeared him to his employers.

He felt like he'd had no choice in the end. He had to make money. He couldn't stand the idea of seeing Leah and Lucas go without, to see them cold and hungry like he'd often been when he was younger.

There had been no buzz off shoplifting like there had been in the past as a boy. The thrill was entirely replaced by the fear of being caught. Ste was sure that it would be written all over his face, that he'd be as white as a ghost, that he'd look skittish and would attract attention.

But he found himself getting away with it time and time again. He was skinny, and this often helped him to slip in and out of places virtually unnoticed. And seeing Amy and the kids smiling faces made it all seem okay, made the guilt lessen, if only for an hour or two.

Perhaps he got reckless, started to relax and think that the hand on his shoulder would never come. When it did he'd sat in a room at the back of a shop, thinking _this is going to be okay, I'll just get let off with a warning or a caution, they'll think it's just a silly one time thing._

He hadn't realised that the security guards had been after him for weeks, that news had spread from other shops. Suddenly he was Chester's most wanted.

Once his finger prints had been put on the system it had become even worse. His last offense had been there in black and white, impossible to avoid. He could see the policeman looking at him, could tell what they were thinking. _Not a first timer then. No getting away with this._

The worst thing was Amy's face, and Leah and Lucas's small hands desperately trying to hold onto him when he'd been led away. Amy had thought that it was for the best that the kids stay away from the court completely, but Ste knew what the verdict would be, knew that this could be his last chance to see them for a long time. Michaela looked after them in a cafe nearby, only bringing them in at the end.

They seemed to instinctively know what was happening, and when they heard the guilty verdict, the tears of their father, Ste saw their expressions turn to that of distress. He looked at Amy, needed to find some reassurance there from his best friend, needed to communicate how sorry he was for keeping all this from her.

She wasn't ready to forgive him yet though. Ste thinks about it now in his cell, pictures her face, hard, cold, mask like. He'd watched as she had held Leah and Lucas, looking like she wasn't just protecting them from all of this, but from _him_.

All that trust that he'd built up, proving to her that he had changed, that he wouldn't hit her again or put her in danger, and it felt like he was beginning from scratch again.

Ste feels tears spring to his eyes, and hurriedly wipes them away. He refuses to be pathetic, refuses to let anyone see him cry. He knows his skinny frame won't do him any favours in here, so the least he can do is seem as strong as he can in other ways.

He'd usually be going to sleep at this time at home, but unsurprisingly finds he can't settle. The mattress is hard and bumpy, with only the thinest sheet covering him. So much for what he'd heard about prisoners being surrounding with Playstations, widescreen tvs, and the full furnishings. This is as basic as it gets.

Worst of all is the fact that he's constantly aware of the other men in the hallway. Even being woken up by a screaming child is better than this. At least it's _his_ child, not a complete stranger, a criminal. It's not silent for more than a minute before laughter and the sound of shouting fills his ears, like a never ending attack. The laughter's high pitched, manic, the screaming somehow devoid of any hope.

His mind wanders to what these men have done. He's sure some are like him, brought in for shoplifting and petty crimes, but what about the others? There are people here who are murderers, rapists, paedophiles. _He doesn't belong here. _

And he hasn't even met his cellmate. He asked one of the nicer officers who he was going to be sharing with. _"He's not here yet. Going to be transferred from another floor tomorrow."_

Ste can count on one hand how many friends he's ever had. Amy's more or less been a constant. Even through the hard times she was still willing to give him a chance. There was a friendship with a lad Justin for a while, which mainly consisted of them eating pizza, watching cartoons and getting drunk together, but it was still something.

Two friends. _Two_. And that's meant to prepare him for sharing a cell with someone day after day? Of having to pee in a bucket in front of them? Making small talk, and possibly trying to avoid getting beat up by them? Fuck that. This whole thing is crazy.

He gets a sharp rap on his door, a booming _"Breakfast,"_ from the guard. But it can't be breakfast, he hasn't slept a single minute. He's not ready for this, for what's waiting for him when he gets out of his bed.

He doesn't have a choice in this though, and it's not long before his door is opened, a guard staring down at him, telling him "_you may be new here, but you need to learn the routine. Fast."_

He's escorted out of his cell by a burly police officer. It's then that Ste dares to take his first proper glance at the other prisoners. He'd arrived late the night before, the place shrouded in darkness, and he was partly able to convince himself that he was having a nightmare. Now there is nowhere to hide, and he looks quickly out of the corner of his eye into each cell that he passes.

Some of the men catch him looking and stare back, their eyes drinking him in. Some aren't what Ste expected. A few look like weedy little boys, almost younger than him, and he can't imagine what they might have done to get in a place like this. Others are old, look in their sixties or seventies, and he feels relieved that it doesn't look like they could take him in a fight.

A few pull faces though, faces of intimidation and aggression when they see his gaze meet theirs. One pretends to lunge forward, and laughs when Ste flinches. The officer ignores it completely, and Ste guesses he's used to this, used to fresh blood being targeted relentlessly.

He's shocked when one prisoner smiles at him. He looks about Ste's age, with bright blue eyes, and possibly the bushiest eyebrows he's ever seen. He has a kind face, and Ste reckons that's rare in this place, and he risks smiling back, grateful for something that feels close to normal interaction for the first time since he arrived.

Ste's not used to a five star all you can eat buffet at home. A few chicken nuggets or a takeaway from the fish and chip shop will usually do him just fine. Even so, prison food's a bit of a shock.

As he arrived on a Friday he's here for what appears to be a special weekend fry up, and the other prisoners flock to where the eggs, bacon and fried toast are being served up. Ste stands in line, but then catches a glimpse at the food lying in trays, and suddenly doesn't feel so hungry. The eggs look like they've been stored there for days, dried up, barely even yellow anymore. The bacon's not much better, so hard it looks like you could use it as a weapon. Ste wonders if that's the attraction.

He knows he has to eat something though, that he's hardly going to come out still standing if someone tries to mess with him, not if he loses any weight. He decides to settle for some porridge instead, has heard Amy tell the kids often enough to "_eat up, it's good for you, it'll keep you full till lunch",_ like she's the voiceover for some kind of healthy living advert.

When it's put into his bowl he can actually hear the impact, and it sticks so much to the spoon that it takes a good few minutes before he has a decent sized portion. He's starting to wonder if Oliver Twist was an idiot for asking for more.

Deciding where to sit reminds him of being at school, with all the endless stupid cliques. He can already tell that the men are separated into groups, and tries to look for a table where it doesn't look like he'll be eaten alive.

The place is packed, and Ste bumps into someone, almost spilling his breakfast.

"Sorry," he mumbles, thinking _that's just what I need, to piss off some murderer on my first day here._

He looks into the eyes of a guy with dark hair and a baby face.

"Don't worry about it, kid," he replies earnestly.

Ste breathes a sigh of relief, thinking that's it, he's escaped, but when he turns to leave the guy touches his arm.

"You're new here, right? I haven't seen you around before."

Ste's surprised that anyone notices who's new when there's so many prisoners here, but then he realises with sinking dread that when you're trapped in a place for months, even years, then the faces around you become as familiar as your own.

"Yeah. Just came here yesterday."

The guy holds his hand out. Ste's surprised, didn't thing that something like manners would even exist here. He's quick to return it, holding his tray awkwardly so he doesn't drop it.

"I'm Ethan."

"Ste."

"You're from Manchester, right? I recognise that accent."

"Yeah."

"That'll work in your favour round these parts."

Ste frowns. "How do you mean?"

"Posh ones never fit in well here. They just get the piss taken out of them."

"Oh." Ste's not sure whether to be offended or not by the fact that he isn't _posh_. Ethan's hardly what he'd call common, but Ste doesn't see any bruises on him.

"Anyway, do you want to sit with us?" Ethan nods over to a table.

Ste looks at what the _us_ consists of. The table is only occupied by one person so far. Mr blue eyed, bushy eyebrows.

"Yeah, okay. Thanks," he says, remembering how Ethan's friend had smiled at him.

They approach the table with their trays, and Ste sits opposite the boy.

"This is Ste. He's new here - thought I'd bring him over before someone corrupted him," Ethan explains to the boy. Ste wonders what exactly he means by _corrupted_, but doesn't dare ask.

"Good idea," the boy says with a wink, and Ste hears a strong American accent coming through.

"I'm Doug by the way," he continues, and again he holds out his hand for Ste to shake. _Is everyone so damn civilised in this place?_

The question lingers at the back of Ste's mind. What are these people in for? They seem polite, nice even. His heart leaps when he wonders if there's a chance that they've been wrongfully convicted, if the place is crawling with innocent men, and it'll be like staying at some kind of all male holiday camp, albeit one where he's locked up and force fed gruel.

Then he remembers young offenders, and how he was surrounded by a group of lads who would proclaim their innocence, when Ste knew damn well that they'd done it, could tell just by listening to their bullshit stories and seeing the way they acted.

Doug and Ethan don't look like murderers though, although he's not quite sure what a murderer _should_ look like. But these two look like children in adults bodies.

He's unnerved when they seem to read his mind.

"So, what are you in for?" Ethan asks, like they're casually making conversation about the weather.

"Uh...is it important?"

"Around here, yeah," he says soberly. "And people always find out sooner or later. Especially if someones been splashed all over the news. I haven't seen your face though. So that rules out paedo or mass murderer."

Ste's eyes widen, wondering how they can be talking about this so calmly.

"Of course I'm not a...I'm not either of those things!"

"Like I said, I know you're not mate. I wouldn't have invited you over if you were. Don't really need the trouble, you know what I mean?"

Ste's not dumb enough to not know what they do to those sort of criminals in prison.

"What Ethan's trying to say," Doug butts in, looking apologetic, "Is that it can be a nightmare for people like that in here. You don't want to know the things we've seen."

"Right," Ste swallows, thinking that these are people who he now lives with. One of those people could be who he shares a cell with.

"So what did you do?" Ethan questions.

"Stop being so nosy!" Doug chastens, and Ste can tell how close they are, the easy back and forth, the lack of fear between them.

"No, it's alright," Ste says, knowing that he'll have to reveal it sometime. "I got done for shoplifting."

Ethan rolls his eyes, as if the excitement and scandal he was expecting hasn't materialised. "Is that all? God, that's nothing. I'm surprised you even got a sentence for it."

"Well it had been going on for quite a while. And I'd been to young offenders before for joyriding." Ste's not quite sure why he feels the need to big up his criminal record.

"People like you always used to annoy me. Time wasters when we could be dealing with actual serious crimes."

Ste holds his spoon mid air, wondering if he's missed a step.

"Just ignore him Ste, he does this with everyone," Doug says wryly, staring at Ethan with a mixture of exasperation and fondness.

"I don't..." _I don't understand. _

"He's a copper," Doug explains. "Or used to be, obviously. He got done for a hit and run, and now his job consists of lecturing us all about the importance of obeying the law. Hypocrite, is what he is."

Ethan elbows him in the ribs, and Doug laughs. Ste stares between them, flabbergasted.

"You're a..." He's basically sitting with the enemy.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to arrest you or something! I'm not a spy for the other side."

_Yes, because spies always reveal the fact that they're spies._

"I can vouch for that fact. We share a cell," Doug adds.

"Right." Suddenly the porridge which was at least half edible is making Ste want to be sick. "And..." he turns to Doug. "What did you do?"

Doug looks down at his plate, and Ste can see the shame there. It shocks him, seeing such raw guilt.

"Drugs...I dealt them to a girl...a friend. She died. Her name was Charlotte," he says quietly, as if saying her name makes her a person, a once real, living, breathing person. It's a way of taking responsibility, Ste realises. He can't help but admire him for it. He's not innocent in that respect himself, once bringing drugs into the flat with Leah and Lucas there.

"We all make mistakes, don't we?" Ste murmurs. "Sometimes massive ones. But sometimes you just have to forgive yourself."

Doug looks at him, his blue eyes shining, and smiles at Ste softly, his expression one of pure gratitude.

"Aw, look at you two bonding," Ethan says tweely. "As long as you don't take my best friend away from me, Ste."

"Why would you care? You'll always have me," a voice growls from behind them.

Ste nearly jumps, registering the bulk of the man before him, his broad shoulders and large, puffed out chest. He looks in his thirties, masculine, butch, and Ste can barely believe his eyes when he sits down next to Ethan and starts stroking his face.

He looks around the room, wondering if anyone's staring at the very obvious fact that these two are together, that they look one second away from fucking in the dining hall from the way the older guy's looking at Ethan.

Doug merely continues eating his breakfast, eyes downcast, like he sees this everyday.

"You know what I meant, Warren," Ethan says, gently dislodging his hand from his face.

"For your sake I hope I do." Ste doesn't think he imagines the hint of a real threat there.

In his shock Ste drops his spoon, and he bends down to pick it up. Under the table he blinks, taking in the sight before him. Warren stroking Ethan's thigh, his hand moving increasingly close to _there. _

He pretends he hasn't seen anything, and emerges. The disturbance has alerted Warren's attention to him though, and his eyes travel over Ste's face. The look feels to last an age, lingering.

"Who's this little twink, then?" He questions, and Ste almost prays that no one answers him.

"Ste," Ethan says. "In for shoplifting apparently."

Warren, like his apparent boyfriend, looks disappointed.

"What's the matter boy, cat got your tongue?" Warren says slowly to him, giving him a once over again.

"Leave him alone, Warren," Doug says, and Ste has to stop himself from mouthing _thank you_ over the table.

"Alright Yankee, I was just getting to know the new boy! No harm done, is there? I think you need to tell your friend to calm down, Ethan."

Ethan looks between the two of them nervously, and Ste feels the atmosphere immediately shift, almost like there's a sudden chill.

"He's only playing around," Ethan says to Warren, laughing uncomfortably.

Warren stares at Doug a moment, and now Ste knows what's meant by _if looks could kill. _He then turns his attentions back on Ste.

"You're a skinny one, aren't you?"

Ste doesn't know what to say to that. Part of him wants to tell Warren to fuck off, but he knows that's not going to get him anywhere.

"Who's he sharing with?" He says, turning to Ethan.

Ethan glances between Ste and Warren, and then leans over and whispers in Warren's ear. Warren immediately lets out a booming laugh.

"How convenient. This should be fun. Good luck," he directs at Ste.

Ste opens his mouth to ask what's so funny, to ask who the hell he's going to share with, and if they're about to stamp on him like a cockroach. But Warren turns back to Ethan before he has the chance, and says, bold as brass "You done here? Because I thought we could go back to your cell while the Yank's eating." His intentions are crystal clear, and Ste's pretty sure that his hand has moved up Ethan's thigh considerably now.

"Sure," Ethan says faster than lightning, standing up. "See you later, Doug. Ste."

Warren grins at him, and it reminds Ste of a hyena before it devours its prey. "See you around, kid."

Once they're gone Ste lets out a breath that he hadn't even known he'd been holding. He turns to Doug, and finds his face more or less at eye level with his breakfast, looking like he's trying to reduce himself to the smallest size possible.

"Are they..."

"Together? Yep," Doug nods, sounding anything but enamoured by this fact.

"And they don't try and hide it or anything?" Ste's never seen anything like it. He never had that growing up on a council estate, and he definitely wasn't expecting it in prison. Of course he'd heard stories of men raping each other, but to _choose_ to be with a guy in young offenders was unheard of.

"That's the whole point, isn't it?"

Ste frowns, staring at Doug curiously.

Doug looks around them, then lowers his voice. "Can you keep a secret? I wouldn't usually tell someone this after knowing them for less than an hour. But you...I don't know, you seem like a nice guy."

Ste nods eagerly, seeing his chance to fit in, to be a part of something, and taking it. He leans in closer to Doug.

"Ethan's not exactly with him because he wants to be."

"I don't get it. He just shot out of the place when Warren asked him to."

"Yeah, because you don't go against someone like Warren Fox. He instructs, you follow."

"I don't understand."

Doug lowers his voice even further. "Me and Ethan came in here about the same time. You've seen the way people are with him - does it seem like he's been harassed to you so far?"

"No," Ste says, thinking of the way he and Ethan had gone to the table virtually unnoticed.

"Exactly. He's an ex copper, Ste. He used to arrest guys who are in here. Don't you think it's a bit weird that he's not having the shit beat out of him? Excuse my language."

"Well yeah, now you mention it..."

"It's because of Warren. All of it. He was here when me and Ethan first arrived. Lets just say he took an immediate shine to him."

"Why?" Ste finds it hard to believe that someone like Warren would even be gay, let alone would want to go out with a policeman.

"To be honest, I don't really want to think about the way his mind works. All I know is that he started harassing Ethan from the moment he met him. All but shoving his penis in his face. Again - sorry about the crudeness."

Ste waves the apology away with his hand, starting to wonder if Doug was a choir boy in a former life.

"Ethan resisted for months of course. I mean the guy had a girlfriend before he came in here. From what he's told me he's never had those kind of feelings."

"Maybe he's lying," Ste says, trying to make sense of it. "I mean if he can do that with another guy..."

"He was getting beat up really badly, Ste. Day in, day out. It was never ending, and he spent most of his first weeks here in the hospital wing. He had one of his teeth knocked out."

Ste shudders. "So it was for protection?"

"Exactly that. Warren's one of the guys who owns this place. Everyone does what he says. No one messes with him. So he and Ethan made a deal of sorts."

Ste can already guess what this _deal_ consists of. "Do they actually...do everything?"

Doug turns pale. "I don't really like to ask for details, but yes. Everything."

It makes Ste feel sick. He was wrong when he thought it was consensual.

"But doesn't Warren realise that he's straight?"

"Of course, but he doesn't care," Doug says, playing with the food on his plate. "He's getting his cock sucked - what does it matter to him? Again, sorry for the -"

"Stop apologising Doug, I grew up on a bloody council estate," he says sharply, and Doug laughs.

"Okay then. Anyway, as you could probably tell I can't stand the guy. He's a thug, but he's the reason that Ethan's alive right now, so it's not like I can do anything."

Ste shakes his head, unable to believe what he's hearing. He feels a long way from Hollyoaks now.

"What about you? You don't get hurt for hanging around Ethan, do you?" He surveys Doug's face for any bruises or cuts.

"No, the same rules apply. I'm under Warren's guard." He snorts.

Another thought occurs to Ste, something that he'd forgotten in all this madness.

"Doug, why was Warren laughing before? At hearing who my cellmate is, I mean. _I_ don't even know who he'll be yet."

"Oh, right." Doug fidgets uncomfortably, suddenly avoiding Ste's eyes. "It's no big deal."

"Tell that to your face."

Doug continues to squirm. "News spreads around here pretty fast. People have already heard who you'll be sharing with."

This is it. The time when Ste finds out whether he'll be sleeping at night with a psycho.

"Please just tell me. I'll feel better once I know." Although part of him is beginning to doubt that.

"You really want to know?" Doug questions.

_Oh fuck. This must be really, really bad. _

Ste nods, everything inside him screaming_ no._

"His name's Brendan Brady. Heard of him?"

Ste shakes his head, wondering whether he should be relieved that he hasn't.

"He was in the papers a few years back. Front page news."

"I don't really read newspapers. Or watch the news," Ste admits, feeling embarrassed when there's something about Doug that has _educated_ written all over it.

"He uh..." Doug sighs. "There's no easy way to put this, Ste. He killed someone. He has a life sentence."

Ste feels like he's about to throw up his porridge. He clutches his stomach and leans over the table, wondering when the retching will start.

"Shit. Are you okay?" Doug asks concernedly, holding his arm.

"He...he killed someone?" Ste stutters.

"Yes."

"Who?" Not that it really matters after what he's just learnt, but he imagines this Brendan murdering an old lady, a child, someone Leah or Lucas's age.

"His dad."

Ste baulks, can't take this in. _His own father? _Ste hates Terry, and had days when he would imagine scenarios where he killed him in the most brutal fashion, but to actually go through with it?

"He has some anger issues. As you'll see when you meet him. He moved up a floor when he attacked one of the guards."

Ste pleads with him silently, _stop, please stop, are you trying to kill me? _He'd wanted to know, but this is too much.

"This guard...how badly did he hurt him?" Like a masochist, he can't help but ask.

"Er...I'm not sure you want to know."

Ste lets out a groan. "Great. Out of all the people I could of been put with, and they choose him for me? I've just done a bit of shoplifting, I don't deserve to get stuck with a murderer who killed his own family!"

"Maybe they think you'll be a calming influence on him," Doug trails off pathetically.

"Yeah, or they're trying to finish me off."

"Look Ste, I'm sure you'll be okay. You're only here for a few months, right? That's nothing. Brendan's here for the rest of his life. It's not like you have to worry about him coming after you or something if you piss him off."

Shit. Ste hadn't even considered that.

Doug seems to know he's said the wrong thing. "Maybe I should just stop talking now."

"No," Ste says, despite his heaving stomach. Doug's been honest with him, and he can't hate him for that. "Thank you for telling me. I needed to know. I'm guessing he's another one of the guys who rules this place, right?"

"There are three of them. Him, Warren and Walker. You'll meet him too before long."

"I can hardly wait."

"You'll be fine, Ste." He's surprised by the tone of confidence in Doug's voice.

"How do you know?"

"Because of the way you look," he says bluntly. "You're every prisoners dream."

Ste laughs, thinks Doug's having him on. "Me? Are you feeling alright, Doug?"

"I'm serious. You're skinny, tanned, cute. I'm not into guys, but if I was you'd totally be on my list." He gives Ste another wink, and he wonders if it's a trademark thing.

"Thanks, but I really doubt I'm going to be on anyone else's list. I'm really not..."

"Gay?"

Ste's surprised by his directness. "No, 'course not! I've got my kids at home, and I've been with girls before."

"Yes, because no one who's gay has ever had kids before," Doug teases him.

"Well I'm different," he says defensively.

He doesn't tell Doug about the first guy he'd ever liked when he was a teenager. A boy in young offenders, Callum. Ste couldn't stand him at first, the way he thought he was better than everyone else just because he'd once been at a posh boarding school. Lot of good that did him in there. But after being stuck there for months, he'd realised that first impressions weren't always correct. He still remembers the smell of Callum, the goofy smile he had. Ste had used any excuse to get close to him, had suggested fucking _wrestling matches_ just so he could touch him.

It hadn't been the same with the guys he'd spent the night with since then. He'd met them on the rare occasions when he'd had enough money to scrape together for a few drinks at a club. He didn't exactly go there planning on having a drunken fumble in the toilets. It felt seedy, his body pressed up against a cubicle, a condom hurriedly ripped from its packet, Ste muffling his groans.

When he got a girlfriend, Rae, all that had stopped. He barely managed to hang onto her more than a few weeks, her tiring of him spending all his money on the kids and Amy, and not being able to afford to take her out for meals. But it reassured him, the fact that he still enjoyed sleeping with a girl. It meant he couldn't be gay.

"Fair enough. Although I don't think some people are going to take no for an answer."

Ste's eyes widen.

"Relax, I'm only joking! Brendan and Walker aren't like Warren. Not in that way."

He wonders in what other ways they're similar, if he even wants to know.

After breakfast Ste and Doug wave goodbye as they're locked in their cells again. Ste suddenly appreciates the solitude, knowing how precious this will seem soon, having the room to himself.

While he takes a piss in the bucket he checks the small glass screen on his door. He hasn't lost his dignity yet, not even close, and the thought of a guard watching as he pees isn't appealing.

He lies back on his bed shivering, wishing he was at home and could crawl underneath a duvet, Amy curling beside him, cups of hot tea warming their hands. He's trying not to hope for any visits from her, not after what he did, and the way she had looked at him. He misses her already though. They were in this together, in _life_ together, them against the world. He hopes she's not telling the kids about what he's done, that her desire to protect them is stronger than her anger at him.

Ste thinks about what he has to face later today. A murderer moving into his cell.

_Brendan Brady. _He imagines someone with Warren's build, possibly bigger. A man older than him, stronger. Ste can only imagine what it's like to know you're going to be behind bars for life. The fact that Brendan's got nothing to lose terrifies him. He has no reason _not_ to attack Ste, and he finds it difficult to believe Doug's words that he'll be fine, when nothing about this is.

Maybe if he just keeps his head down, pretends that he's not afraid, then he'll survive in this place. At least he's got Doug now, and he's guessing his association with Ethan and Warren will mean that he's off anyones hit list.

Part of him just wants to sleep, remembers this feeling from years ago. Everything had come out about what he'd done to Amy, and he'd had Mike Barnes in his face, shouting at him, punching him, asking him _"how could you do that to my daughter?" _Ste had got drunk, wanted to drown the pain out. He'd climbed on some scaffolding, wanted to look down at the ground and be in control for once, wanted to feel like he could fly. He doesn't remember consciously wanting to die, but when he fell and broke his leg he'd thought it fleetingly. _I just don't want to wake up. _

But there's no time for him to close his eyes. It feels like he's only been locked in his cell for a minute before the door's opened again, and he has a meeting with the prisoner governor. He wonders if it's possible that he's done something wrong in his short time here already.

He's led to a rather nondescript office which looks like it could do with a new coat of paint. Ste sits down on a hard chair and nervously stares at the man sitting before him, knowing that he has to be on his best behaviour.

"Hello Ste. Thanks for coming."

Ste's surprised by the politeness of his tone, by the smile he gives him. He tries to relax and return it, wondering if this is some kind of trap, or a way of easing him in before he's plunged through a trapdoor.

The guy look like he's in his mid thirties, and has a small but noticeable scar across his forehead. Ste hopes that it's something he got at an early age, maybe from falling in the playground, rather than obtained through a fight with someone like Brendan.

"This is your first day here?"

"Yes," Ste says, clearing his throat.

"How are you settling in?"

Ste wasn't expecting all these questions, questions which are unnecessary in the grand scheme of things, questions which the governor has no reason to want to know.

"Er...it's okay." As okay as it can be when he's being held against his will.

"Good. I know it's bound to be a shock at first. It is for everyone, even people who have transferred from other prisons. Getting to know new people, and learning the routine - it's a lot to get used to. But we're here to help you."

Ste wonders if Doug still deals drugs to some of the staff members here. Why the hell does someone like him care how he feels?

"Thanks," he mumbles, not knowing what he can possibly add to that.

The governor nods in acknowledgment. "I'm sorry, I didn't introduce myself - I'm Tony Hutchinton. I've been working here for six years now."

Six years. It's not a life sentence, but it sounds like one.

"Anything you need, you can come to me. Of course I'm busy a lot of the day, but if it's important then I'll do my best to find the time."

"Right."

"You'll be introduced to our courses in the next few days. You're probably used to this from young offenders, but there are a lot of things you can do here. People can retake their exams, or do some work in the gardens or help out at meal times. It's a good way to earn some extra money and privileges, and make the most of your talents."

_Talents_. Perhaps if there was a course on shoplifting, although Ste couldn't even get that right. He's never been any good at languages or maths or science. He's even worse at English, and memories of his short time at school flood back to him, the teachers thinking he was stupid, lazy, and him giving up trying to explain to them that the words all looked wrong and jumbled. He can't imagine working in the garden, the image of him lifting a giant pair of sheers almost laughable.

"Thanks for meeting with me, Ste. I appreciate it," Tony says, as if Ste's done him a favour, as if he was in the middle of something extremely important in his cell.

"No problem..."

He realises that he does this for all prisoners. It's like a well oiled routine, and Ste reminds himself not to think that this guy is being kind to him, that Tony probably thinks it's only a matter of time before he misbehaves and he can give him another, far less friendly talk.

Ste's led back to his cell, and he almost wishes he could have stayed in the office. He's immediately faced with the shouting and laughter again. The sheer noise of prison overwhelms him.

He's been gone less than twenty minutes, but when he comes back he finds the entrance to his cell is being blocked. One of the coppers stands in front of his door, and Ste recognises him as a bastard from before, who'd teased him about his skinny frame when he'd first arrived. He smirks now when he sees Ste.

"Alright, weedy? Good news. Your cellmate's arrived."

Ste gulps, feeling goosebumps rise on his skin.

The copper just stands there and laughs. "Have fun, you two."

He walks off with the prison officer who was escorting Ste, and he firmly hopes that he has a nasty fall down the stairs.

Ste turns back towards his cell. This is it.

Taking a deep breath, he steps closer towards the door, ready to meet Brendan Brady.


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing that Ste notices about Brendan Brady is the large dark moustache that almost dominates his face. He's never seen anything like it, the length of it, the way it lies down the corners of his mouth.

Brendan is sitting on the previously unoccupied bed, and he stares up at him when Ste approaches, his eyes trailing down from his face to his body. It makes Ste bite his bottom lip, feeling that every inch of him is being assessed. It's different to the way Warren was looking at him before, his eyes full of barely concealed judgement. Brendan's expression is neutral, closed off, and Ste wonders what Brendan sees when he looks at him.

He's slimmer than Warren, but appears stronger somehow. He's wearing a vest, his arms on display, and Ste takes in the sight of them, his broad shoulders, the large cross tattoo that's on his right arm. A religious murderer.

He looks in his early thirties like Ste had guessed, and his skin is pale, dark shadows under his eyes. He reminds Ste of someone who works in a garage, rough, and he can easily picture Brendan covered in grease and oil. He can already tell that he _definitely_ wasn't a choir boy in a former life.

"Hello roomie," Brendan says in a thick Irish accent, and Ste wonders why it sounds like a threat.

"Hi, I'm Ste," he replies, holding out his hand, like it's a habit he's picked up from Ethan and Doug.

Brendan stares at his hand, then looks up at him, never breaking eye contact for less than a second. Ste drops his arm, fidgeting with it nervously, trying to pretend that he wasn't just rejected.

"Close the door, then. You're letting the draft in."

The idea of shutting them in together fills Ste with dread, but he does as he's told, and the door clangs shut ominously.

It's suddenly quiet, and Ste finds himself longing for the noise from the other prisoners for the first time since his arrival. All he can hear is the frantic drumming of his own heartbeat, and he doesn't know whether to watch Brendan, to make sure that he's not going to shove him against the wall and beat the living daylights out of him, or to avoid his gaze, lest he offends him somehow.

He settles for something in between, sitting on the bed and looking at the floor one minute, and Brendan's dark eyes the next.

Brendan lies on his bed once more, putting his hands behind his head and leaning back on them. Ste can see the hair under his armpits then, more hairy than any man he's ever seen before, some peeking through the top of his vest too. He feels ridiculously insubstantial next to him, and draws his knees up to his chest, hugging them. _No wonder the guards were laughing. I must look like his twelve year old son._

Ste longs to break the silence. The idea of making conversation with a killer makes him feel sick, but right now it's preferential to getting on the wrong side of him. He finds himself wishing that it was Doug here instead. He already feels at ease with him, can't imagine the American hurting anyone.

"So...you're Irish." Ste feels instantly stupid, and thinks this may rival the _"I carried a watermelon" _scene that Amy made him watch a thousand times from Dirty Dancing.

He thinks he hears Brendan snort.

"Good observation, boy."

_Boy. _It reminds him of Terry, the way that he'd reduce him to less than a person by that word alone.

"Well I've never met an Irish person before, me. I mean obviously I've seen them on tv, but that's not really the same, is it?"

Brendan leans on his elbow to look at him. "You talk a lot."

"I've only said like two words..."

"Two words too many."

Ste closes his mouth, but he feels distinctly irritated. It's going to be a long few months if Brendan won't even let him talk.

He turns to his side, facing the wall and away from Brendan. He's not even hungry but he wishes that it was lunchtime already. Anything to make the time pass quicker.

"I didn't even introduce myself, boy."

Ste slowly turns back to look at him, surprised. "I already know who you are."

Brendan smirks. "I bet you do. They've probably told you the lot, haven't they? Name, age, date of birth, former address?"

Ste stares at him, confused.

"You think I don't know the kind of stories that get told about me here?"

_Stories._ Ste doesn't understand that. It's not exactly a story if it's true.

"Well maybe I heard a few things," he concedes.

"From who?"

Ste shakes his head.

"Ah, I get it. Not a snitch, right? That's smart. You've learnt the rules already."

It's not a rule that prison has taught him. It's a rule his whole life has taught him.

"So what's my name then?"

"Brendan Brady."

Brendan laughs.

"What?" Ste says self consciously.

"The way you say things. That accent of yours. Jesus. Straight from the gutter."

_The gutter._ Like he's some kind of rat.

"You going to tell me who you are, then?"

"Ste Hay."

"Ste?" Brendan's forehead creases. "What kind of name is Ste?"

He feels heat rising to his cheeks, the fact that he's being mocked striking him like an iron fist.

"What's wrong with that?" He asks, anger creeping through.

Brendan knows he's touched a nerve, but he merely looks amused.

"It's not a proper name. It's like half of a name. What's your full one, boy?"

"Can you stop calling me that?" Ste raises his voice. "I'm not a boy. I'm twenty three."

Brendan glances down at his body, as if saying _you're anything but._

"I'll stop calling you boy when you tell me what your proper name is."

Ste rolls his eyes, knows that he'll never hear the end of it.

"Fine then. It's Steven, but no one ever calls me -"

"Steven. Steven." Brendan says it like he's rolling it on his tongue. "I like that. That, Steven, is a proper name."

Ste hates it. It reminds him of his mum calling him it when she was yelling at him to get another bottle of vodka for her, or when Amy's in a mood with him.

"Everyone calls me Ste."

"Well I'm not everyone, am I? I'll call you whatever I want."

Ste wants to scream. Suddenly the fact that he's stuck in here with a bastard outweighs the fact that he's a murderer.

"What do I call you then?" Ste mutters under his breath, so low that he doesn't think Brendan will hear, although a part of him wants him to. "Your highness?"

"You're a mouthy one, aren't you?" Brendan says, and Ste expects him to look furious, but his eyes are sparkling, like this is a game they're playing.

"I'm just honest."

"Really? Nicking some frozen pizza from a shop doesn't seem very honest, Steven."

Ste's eyes widen. "How did you..."

"I'm not the only one people talk about here. Some guys on my floor heard there was a new boy coming in. Wanted to know what you'd done."

Ste wonders how the news could have spread that fast. Doug wouldn't have told anyone, would he? Ste guesses that it's come from Warren, that he's heard it from Ethan and now bandied it about for the entire prison population to know.

"So what was it, hmmm? Were you bored, is that it? Thought you'd get your kicks from stealing some sweets from the local shop?"

Ste stays silent, hating the tone of Brendan's voice, the way he presumes to know what kind of life he led.

"Or was it for a girl? Thought you'd impress her, did you? Swipe some make up for her -"

"Shut up, okay?" Ste shouts, sitting up on his bed. "You think you know everything, don't you? Well I didn't do it for fucking sweets, Brendan. And yeah, maybe I did do it for a girl. For the mother of my kids actually, because I couldn't afford to get them the things they needed. And I know I shouldn't of done it, but you do what you have to for your family, don't you?" _Not that you'd understand that. You killed yours. _

Ste gasps for breath, feels like he's just released something that was burning inside of him, something that he wanted to say to the jury during his trial. He knows what they were thinking about him, knows that they thought him some silly kid who was trouble, that he was stealing from the state, that he wouldn't amount to anything. It was horrible to see his own fears reflected back at him like that.

Brendan stands up and moves closer to him, stopping when he's at the foot of the bed, staring down at Ste. He'd thought Warren was intimidating, but it was nothing like this. Brendan can make him shiver with one look.

"You ever tell me to shut up again, and I'll break your arm," he promises, and Ste doesn't for a second think he's not telling the truth.

He cowers in the corner of his bed, despising what he's been reduced to, but he daren't answer back, not again, not with Brendan looking like he could rip him apart with his hands.

"Understand?"

"Yes."

"Good," Brendan nods, seemingly satisfied. He sits back down on his bed. There's silence, and Ste thinks that's it, it's back to ignoring each other, but then Brendan asks quietly, "How many kids do you have?"

Ste wonders if he should tell him, wonders if it's safe to give him anymore personal details. Brendan may be here on a life sentence, but as far as Ste knows he could have a million and one cronies on the outside, willing to do his bidding. If he gets Amy and the kids into trouble...

"Two," he says, thinking that much won't hurt.

"At your age?"

"Well one's not...one's not mine," he admits. It feels strange saying it, because Leah _is_ his. He cooks breakfast for her, takes her to school. He buys her clothes, gives her a bath, brushes away her tears, comforts her when she falls over or falls out with a friend.

"You're raising someone else's kid?"

"Yeah, but...well she's my daughter, isn't she? The dad hasn't even met her."

Brendan's quiet, and Ste wonders if he's judging him, if he's thinking _typical council estate family, a girl with two kids with two different dads. _

"That's...decent of you, Steven."

Ste doesn't understand Brendan, doesn't get how he can go from being almost nice to him, to threatening to inflict bodily damage, and back again. Maybe this is the way psychopaths work.

"Er...yeah, well you know, it's just the way it is."

Ste wants to ask about his family, if he's even got any left who want to talk to him. His mum would disown him if he ever hurt Terry. _Except she already has disowned me. _Ste shakes the thought from his mind. He hasn't thought about his mum properly in years, and he's not about to start now. That's the problem with prison, though. There seems to be an endless amount of time in front of him to just think.

Brendan stands up and Ste flinches. He realises he's become like a frightened mouse in the short amount of time that he's been in here, aware of every sudden movement. Especially every one that Brendan's making.

He goes to the bucket, and Ste's shocked when he starts undoing his flies without any warning. His eyes are rooted to him until Brendan turns, and fixes him with a look.

"You going to watch the show, or..."

"Sorry, sorry," Ste mumbles, and turns away, staring at a spot on the wall. He can feel himself blush, and he tries to count to ten, to calm his embarrassment. There's something about Brendan that makes him uncomfortable. Ste doesn't want to look like an idiot in front of him. Brendan's clearly top dog around these parts from what Doug says, and he can't afford to get on the wrong side of him, or make Brendan think that he's an easy ride.

He can hear Brendan peeing in the bucket loudly, and it seems to go on forever. Ste feels like a fool for listening, but he can't _not_ listen. There's nowhere to escape. He's hoping he can hold his bladder long enough to somehow go to the toilet when Brendan's not here. It's a humiliating thought.

He's intensively relieved when it's lunchtime, almost falling out of his cell to get to the dining room, trying to move out of Brendan's sight as quickly as possible. Lunch looks just as disgusting as breakfast, but he fills up his plate as full as they'll allow, and finds Ethan and Doug sitting at the same table as earlier. He wonders if people here have their own chosen territory, and anyone who sits down without permission is forced to leave.

"Alright, Ste? You met Brendan then? We heard he came down," Doug says, looking pensive.

He's glad for the concern, appreciates that someone here is looking out for him.

"Yeah. He's..." Ste wonders how he can possibly describe him. "Moody."

Doug and Ethan laugh. "That's Brady," Ethan says. "Man of one word answers, a permanent frown on his face."

Ste tries to hide his surprise. Sure, Brendan is hardly the giggling type - the idea of it makes Ste want to laugh - but there had been amusement in his eyes. It had looked like he'd actually _enjoyed_ teasing him.

"As long as he hasn't tried to hurt you," Doug asks, surveying him.

"Not yet," Ste says darkly, knowing that it could be a whole different ball game by tonight, when there are less guards patrolling. He has the horrifying image of Brendan strangling him in his sleep.

"Don't make the guy sick, Doug. Look Ste, all you need to remember is to aim for the guy's eyes if he tries to kill you. Just poke him right in the centre - he'll be blind as a bat, you'll still be breathing. Sorted."

Ste wonders if this is some kind of a joke. "Are you meant to be giving me advice on how to blind someone?"

Ethan shrugs. "It's not like I'm ever going back into the police force."

"Look can we just stop talking about people killing me and me poking someone's eyes out. It's putting me even more off my lunch."

Ethan holds his hands up in defense. Ste can barely look him in the eyes after what Doug had told him before. He's been in Ethan's position, getting the shit kicked out of him everyday of his life. He doesn't know if he could sleep with someone he despised though, but then what if his life depended on it? Maybe Ethan simply gave up.

Ste goes to clear his tray away, staring around the room, taking everything in. He can't believe that some of these men have been here for years, and some are most likely going to die here, or be released when they're old, when people they love have moved on, even passed away. At least he has a life in front of him, even if it's an uncertain one. Nothing's going to stop him from being released in a few months.

Among the groups of men Ste spots Brendan, and moves out of the way of people blocking him, trying to take a closer look. He wants to know if a guy like him has any friends, or if he's a loner in this place like Ste suspects he is.

The table he's sitting on is full, but Brendan only seems to be talking to one other person, turned away from the others. He looks deep in conversation with a man with light brown hair which goes down to his ears, and a small silver hooped earring.

Ste moves a step forward to see them more clearly, and it's then that he slips on the floor, almost falling flat on his back. Before he knows what's happening he's being held up by a firm pair of arms, and settled on his feet.

"Woah, be careful! You could have hurt yourself."

He's surprised to see a female prison officer with her arm still on him, looking at him concernedly. Her accent is Irish like Brendan's, although they sound like they're from different regions. He's barely seen any women working here, and it's almost a relief to see someone who's as small as him.

"Sorry, I was distracted. Thanks for helping me."

She smiles at him, seeming as pleasantly surprised by his soft tone as he is by hers.

"No problem. Are you new here?"

Does everyone know? Ste's starting to worry that he sticks out like a sore thumb, that he looks like Bambi searching for its mother.

"Yes. Just came yesterday."

"Welcome." She seems to know that there's nothing _welcoming_ about this place, but Ste admires her effort. "I'm Lynsey."

"Ste." He's getting tired of all these introductions, and can foresee a million more, but it's hard to be rude to Lynsey, with her long dark hair, green eyes and milky white skin. She reminds him of a china doll.

"Nice to meet you, Ste. Try not to trip over next time, yeah?" She waves and continues monitoring the lunch line, and by the time Ste looks back to Brendan and his mystery companion, they're gone.

"I see you met Lynsey," Ethan says, coming up behind him and dumping his empty plate, Doug following.

"She seemed nice."

"Oh yes, she's very...nice. Everyone in this place is after her though, so don't get your hopes up."

Ste hadn't even considered it. The last thing he wants is some kind of twisted prison romance with a copper, even if guys like Warren purposefully hunt it out.

"Don't worry, I won't."

"Besides, Doug would have something to say if you did, wouldn't you Dougie?" Ethan turns to grin at him, and Doug grimaces.

"Do you have to keep doing that?"

"I'll stop when you stop having a massive boner for her."

"Ethan! You're so gross."

Ste watches Doug's cheeks flush pink as Ethan laughs next to him.

He turns to Ste and whispers conspiratorially, "He's had a crush on her since he arrived. Guy's one step away from creating a Lynsey shrine, decorating it with candles and running in a circle chanting."

Doug tries to laugh it off, but Ste can see that he's having difficulty.

"I wanted to ask you something," Ste says, breaking off Ethan's high pitched laughter.

Doug is like a dog with a bone. "Sure, anything, ask away."

"I saw Brendan sitting in here a minute ago. He was speaking to this guy. Longish hair, about Brendan's age -"

"With an earring?"

"That's the one. Who is he?"

Ethan looks between him and Doug. "Do you want to tell him, or should I?"

"I'll tell him. You have to go and meet Warren anyway, don't you?"

Ethan's face darkens instantly, the joy that was previously there vanishing. "Yes. I should go, I don't want to be late."

Ste's stomach tightens when he thinks how true that probably is.

When Ethan's gone, Ste looks at Doug uneasily. "It feels wrong, just watching while he -"

"I know. Trust me, I feel ill every time I think about it. But he told me that this is his choice, Ste. There's nothing I can do about it."

"Can't you...I don't know, tell one of the guards?" Ste asks desperately.

"What are they going to do? They know this kind of stuff happens, and they do nothing to stop it. They can't watch us twenty four hours a day. And even if they did intervene, Warren would find out. He'd make sure I'd die for it, trust me."

Ste doesn't want to push it, couldn't bear if someone got hurt because of him.

"Sorry. I know this must be crap for you as well."

Doug doesn't say anything, and Ste gets it. There are no words to say how hard it is.

"So anyway, the guy with Brendan," he continues, wanting to distract him.

"I don't want to be the one to deliver more bad news, but that guy he was with..." He stares at Ste apologetically.

"Oh fuck, he's this Walker guy, isn't he?"

Doug nods, and Ste lets out a loud groan.

"Great, so out of all the people he could have been mates with, he chooses the other leader of this place?"

"Well that's the thing about these kind of guys, Ste. They tend to stick together like that."

Ste had expected them to hate each others guts, to have some feud spanning years, not to see Brendan and Walker casually eating chips side by side, looking one step away from lovingly feeding them to each other.

"I don't stand a chance, do I?"

After lunchtime Ste's introduced to his first lesson of the day. He had expected it at young offenders when some of the lads were still young enough to have compulsory education, but not here. He hadn't thought it would be particularly important to people who he imagines had skipped school on a regular basis, so he's surprised when the first class he goes to is packed.

He's decided to choose English, reckons that maybe he can even retake the GCSEs that he failed at. He wonders if he's lost when he steps into the room and sees Lynsey standing in front of a room of at least thirty men. He only moves closer when she beckons him encouragingly.

"I thought you were an officer," he stutters.

"Not quite. We all wear the same type of uniform here, so it's an easy mistake to make. I teach English here though."

He should have known that someone as young and pretty as her wouldn't be patrolling the floors, breaking up fights.

"Take a seat, Ste."

Doug sits at the back of the class, smiling at him and taking his bag off the seat he'd saved. Ste almost wishes he wasn't here, doesn't want to see his face when he has problems with his writing, jumbling up the words. His anxiety about it makes his hand shake when he holds a pencil and writes the date.

He can tell that Lynsey is trying to ease everyone into this slowly. She's a natural teacher, managing to not patronise them, while still working out each individuals skill set so she doesn't overwhelm anyone. She seems genuinely interested in the subject, which Ste can't personally understand, but her passion makes him listen, out of some kind of immediate, strange respect for her.

It's nothing compared to the rapt attention that Doug pays to her though. Ste soon forgets about worrying about Doug noticing the way he reads and writes. His entire focus seems to be on Lynsey, and he follows every movement she makes with his eyes. When she drops a book he runs to the front of the class to pick it up for her, even though it would probably have been quicker if she'd done it herself.

Ste knows what Ethan means now. That shrine suddenly isn't sounding so ridiculous.

At the end of the lesson Ste looks down at his work. His handwriting is messy, almost illegible now even to him, and he bets that he's got nearly every spelling wrong. He glances at Doug's work. Even in his Lynsey induced haze he's managed to fill up his A4 sheet, handwriting all joined up neatly.

As the men file out of the classroom they hand their work to Lynsey, and Ste can see how excited they are, how they want her approval, a few even thanking her for the lesson.

When Doug's back is turned Ste hurriedly crumples his work in his palm, and shoves it away in his pocket. He stays at the back of the classroom as Doug walks up to Lynsey. He hears them talk in quiet voices for a moment, then she briefly touches Doug's arm, and he leaves, motioning to Ste that he'll wait outside for him.

Ste knows he won't get out unnoticed. He should of been the first one out of there. At least that way he could have slipped out without alerting Lynsey to his presence.

She smiles at him, and he hates that she has to be so nice about this.

"How did you find your first lesson, Ste?"

He should feel like a boy, a little boy who's been spoken down to, but somehow he doesn't. It's like she really wants to know.

"It was fine." None of his other teachers ever understood about his dyslexia, never even asked him about him. Why should she?

"Can I have your work, please?"

"No."

Lynsey blinks, clearly not expecting that, not from him. He feels like he's disappointed her, and that somehow matters.

"Why not?"

_Because I'm useless and stupid and can't do anything._

"I just didn't want to do it."

"I saw you writing, Ste. When I came round the class you had a piece of paper in front of you -"

"Stop pushing it!" He demands, anger bubbling at the surface.

"Ste, I was just -"

"Look I said I didn't want to do it, alright? I'm in prison, I'm not in fucking school all over again!"

He walks out of the classroom, his hands curled into knuckles, his face red and hot.

He wants to tell her that it's not her he's angry with. She's not the one who dropped out of school or got a girl pregnant. She's not the one who hit the person he was meant to be caring for, the person he was meant to love. She's not the one who's found herself behind bars again, sharing a cell with someone who people fear.

It's not until he feels a hand grab his arm that he remembers that Doug waited for him, that he's most probably heard the entire conversation.

"Wait a second," he says, racing after Ste.

"Let go of me." Ste tries to shrug him off, but Doug merely continues to follow him, not giving up.

"How could you speak to Lynsey like that? She was just trying to do her job, Ste. She's a good teacher, a good person, she doesn't need crap like that."

Ste rounds on him, furious. "Just because you have some of crush on her doesn't mean that we all have to lick her shoes! I'm not some sixteen year old at school, Doug. I shouldn't have to do these stupid classes."

"That's the whole point, you don't have to. You chose to do it, and then you go and pull a stunt like that?"

"Just leave me alone."

"No." Doug pulls him firmly to face him, two hands on both his shoulders. "I'm not just saying this for her. I'm saying it for you too. If you do anything else like that Tony's going to hear about it. Your sentence can be extended."

"What, for shouting at someone?" Ste says dismissively, but now the thought's in his head it's starting to worry him. He hadn't even considered that he'd be stuck in this place for longer over something which seems so minor.

Doug can see him calming down, and he drops his hands from Ste's body. "Please, just...don't do that again, yeah? I'm saying this as a friend, Ste."

_A friend. _Ste grabs hold of his words like they're his oxygen. One of his biggest fears when he'd heard the guilty verdict had been the possibility of being all alone, of having no one to talk to.He knows it's not wise to trust someone he's only just met, but there's something about Doug. He believes what he'd said to him at breakfast about people making mistakes sometimes. Ste bets there isn't a single day that goes by that Doug doesn't think about the girl who'd died after he dealt to her.

"Yeah. I'm...sorry." Ste feels like he's been saying that word a lot lately, like he's got in on loop. Every time it's true, but that doesn't mean it can always repair the damage.

"I'll apologise to Lynsey the next time I see her," he continues, trying to block out the memory of her face. He's surprised she isn't used to it, prisoners talking to her like she's shit, but the hurt had still been in her face at Ste's words.

Doug thanks him, looking like a weights been lifted off his shoulders. Ste's tempted to ask him how long he's been in love with Lynsey for, but their relationship has already taken a bruising, and he's not about to push it further.

When Ste goes back to his cell, he finds that he's not alone. And there's not just the two of them like he'd anticipated.

His bed's been taken by the body of Walker, who's lying flat on it, Brendan leaning on his, facing him. When Ste's footsteps sound their conversation ceases, and their eyes bore into him. He feels like he's intruded on something, and wishes he knew what they'd just been talking about.

A smile spreads slowly over Walker's face, and he stretches lazily in the bed, the movement revealing his midriff, tanned and toned. His frame is long and elegant, and he draws himself up to his full height when standing. Ste feels about two feet tall.

"So this is the boy you were telling me about, Brady?"

Brendan grunts, and Ste wets his lips, a nervous habit. Walker follows the path of his tongue, eyes blazing.

"Nice to met you, Ste," he says, all politeness. He smiles, baring his teeth, and it makes Ste think of a vampire.

"Was there something you wanted, Steven?" Brendan interrupts.

"I just...just thought I'd have a lie down."

"Aw, had a hard day have you sweetheart?" Walker questions, like he's a small child.

_Sweetheart_. Ste doesn't know what to say to that.

"Walker, our meeting's over. So if you could..." Brendan brushes him off with a flick of his hand.

Ste's wondering if his earlier assessment of their close friendship was misguided. Brendan is looking at him like he's an irritant.

"God, no one lets me have any fun around here." Walker sighs theatrically, his eyes never leaving Ste's. "You can call me Simon, Ste."

"Okay..." Ste trails off, wondering if he's meant to be grateful about this.

"I'll see you soon." He turns back to Brendan. "See you later, Brady."

Ste steps aside to let him through, and doesn't move again until he's sure that Walker's gone. He goes over to his bed, noticing the crinkle on the covers.

"Sorry about the bed," Brendan says, reading his mind. "That's Walker for you. Makes everyones house his home."

"It's hardly my house," Ste replies, looking around at the cell, at the chipped walls and lack of light.

"When you've got a life sentence this place becomes your house, trust me."

This is the first time they've broached the subject of Brendan's sentence, and Ste doesn't ask questions, waits to see if Brendan will open up about it. He's not entirely sure if he even wants him to, if he wants to see how a murderer's mind works. But a part of him needs to know that one all important question. _Why._

"Do you ever get any visitors?" Ste asks tentatively, thinks that that's not too much, surely?

"My sister. Cheryl."

Ste's surprised that Brendan's said her name out loud, that he's shared a part of his life with him, however small. He hadn't expected it, not just that, but the fact that Brendan _does_ have visitors. At the most he'd imagined a friend from the past, but a family member? He doesn't know how Cheryl can look Brendan in the eye after what he did to their father.

"That must be nice. I mean obviously not nice her having to come here, but to see her. Must be nice to catch up and stuff..." Ste finishes off lamely.

Brendan looks at him like he's crazy for a moment, then laughs, deep, throatily.

"I get what you mean, boy. It is what it is."

"What do you mean?" Ste probes, before he can stop himself.

"Nosy fellow, aren't you?"

Ste's about to open his mouth and say sorry for perhaps the hundredth time that day. _No. If I keep on apologising that he's going to think I'm weak. That I can't stand up for myself._

"You don't have to tell me. It's just a question."

Brendan seems to consider this, staring at him thoughtfully. "It's...difficult. Seeing my sister." Ste doesn't doubt that.

"She gets upset when she comes here. I don't like seeing her in pain."

Ste thinks what a weird thing that is to hear from a killer. He doesn't know how Brendan's dad died, but he knows how this thing works. A shooting. A knife. Strangulation. It's not teddy bears and bunny rabbits.

"I..." Brendan hesitates, the words stuck in his throat. "I don't like her coming sometimes," he says quietly, almost a whisper.

"Why not?"

"She talks about...about my kids. Shows me pictures of them. You're alright with your two, Steven. Your sentence is what, two months? Three? I'm never getting out of this place. Not with the things I've done while I've been in here as well. You won't ever know what's it like. I get older and see my boys growing up. One day they'll leave school, they'll find their first jobs, they'll get girlfriends. I won't be able to go to their wedding, or see their children. They want nothing to do with me, and why would they?"

It's the most Ste's heard Brendan talk since he got here. He wasn't expecting something so raw, something ripped from the heart of him, Brendan sounding like he's choking.

He hadn't even thought that Brendan might have a family. Of course he should have known it could be a possibility, but after what he'd heard about the man, the image of him holding a child seemed terrifying.

"But...if your sister comes here, can't she convince them?"

Brendan shakes his head emphatically. "My ex has poisoned them against me. Tells them that I'm scum, that they can't come and visit. She's not wrong though."

Ste had never considered that he'd be sitting here, hearing a member of the prison elite tear himself to shreds.

"My Amy isn't exactly happy with me at the moment either." He's not sure if he expects that this will make anything better, but he can't take the weight of Brendan's grief, needs to numb it slightly with his own, even if it stings.

"Amy?"

"Yeah - the mother of my kids, Leah and Lucas." He realises he's revealed their names when it's too late. His earlier fears of Brendan getting someone on the outside to hunt down his family have subsided though, by the intimacy of Brendan's words. He has no idea if this is the truth or if the man's feeding him a pack of lies, but even if he is, Brendan looks like a person who's lived in the depths of hell, and Ste doesn't think you can fake that.

"The last time I saw her at court she was so mad at me. I think she just wanted to grab me and shake me, you know? Scream at me for everything I'd put her through. I wouldn't have blamed her. I doubt she'll come and visit me here." Saying it out loud for the first time makes it real, and Ste sinks lower onto his bed, the reality hitting him more and more. What if Amy takes away his kids like Brendan's ex did to him?

"How long have you been together? You and this Amy?" Brendan questions, shaking Ste out of his reverie.

"Oh - we're not together anymore. Not like that. We haven't been for years."

He hears Brendan's bed squeak as he turns over in it. When Ste looks at him he sees Brendan staring at him intently.

"Boy like you, you must have left a girl at home?"

_Boy like you. _Ste's never been anyones first choice, rather the person they're stuck with when the world looks too bleak for any other possibility.

"No. Just me," he says, thinking how true that feels right now.

Brendan continues looking at him, almost curiously.

"You snore, boy?" He says abruptly, disarming Ste.

"No..."

"Good. Because doors are locked at ten o'clock. We've got a long night ahead of us."


	3. Chapter 3

_Day 8_

* * *

He's got into a routine, if you can call it that. He knows it's essential to his survival in here, that if he concentrates on anything other then the next monotonous task in front of him he'll crumble. Ste used to keep a calendar, a countdown to Christmas when he was a kid. Looking back now, he doesn't know what he was so excited about, the only thing awaiting him being Pauline lying unconscious on the sofa, Terry eyeing him over the table while eating turkey, chewing the meat, looking at Ste like he was next on the menu, like he'd rip him in half with his teeth and leave nothing but a carcass behind.

He'd cross off each day when it was over, when he was closer to the main event. He doesn't even contemplate doing that now. It would only serve as a reminder of how much time he has left in this place, the months stretched before him.

He's been on his best behaviour since the incident in Lynsey's classroom. Doug's words had the desired effect, and the idea of someone finding out about the way he'd kicked off had laid heavy in his mind, acting as a way of calming his anger whenever it has threatened to overwhelm him. He'd half expected to be marched back to the governor's office, the pleasantries of his last exchange with Tony being replaced with reprimands, and the warning that his sentence could be extended if he kept it up.

But it hasn't come, and every time that he's gone back into Lynsey's classroom she's smiled at him like nothing ever happened, like they're having tea and cake rather than her teaching a prisoner how to not get a resounding fail in his English GCSE.

Warren has found out about the classes he and Doug are doing. Ste's discovered that he can't keep a damn thing from the man, that he seems to constantly be one step away, always behind Ethan's shoulder, ready to swoop in and add a poisonous remark. He's taken to calling him rat boy, and seems to think the nickname is hilarious, throwing his head back and laughing at the joke like he's a comedian, Ethan attempting a smile next to him, but ending up with more of a grimace.

Ste can tell he hates Warren, that disgust drips from every orifice of his being. Doug's told him that after their encounters Ethan scrubs himself clean, like he's trying to get invisible dirt off his body. Once Doug had to physically stop him because the skin was red and peeling, Ethan's tears washing away in the shower. Ste wasn't sure whether he wanted to hear about this at first, didn't know whether he could take the pain, the fact that it felt like a confidence between Doug and Ethan was being broken. He gets it now though. Doug _has_ to tell someone, has to relieve the burden of it somehow, too much for one person to bear.

Warren seems to take up an entire table with his presence, and the insults start almost immediately. _"You, pass an English exam? Do you plan to sleep with the teacher, rat boy?" "You should come out with me into the gardens, do some proper work. If you actually had a bicep, I mean."_ The image of Warren with garden tools is both hilarious and terrifying. Ste's shocked he's even allowed near the things, surprised that a major incident hasn't occurred yet.

Ste can take the insults, can bite his lip and let them wash through him. He knows that Warren's in here for life for the murder of his fiance, that he'll most likely die here while Ste is free, walking the streets and not having to remember a single thing his smarmy face had ever said to him.

What he finds more unnerving is the constant mentions of Brendan. It comes every day without fail, like Warren's a man possessed. Usually it's when Ste's in the lunch line alone, and Doug and Ethan are out of earshot. He's sure it's not a coincidence.

He can sense Warren before he sees him, a mouth close to his ear, a body behind him. It makes him shudder.

"You and Brady getting on alright? He hasn't punched you yet, or..."

Ste never gets to find out what the _or_ is. Warren seems to delight in it, his eyes sparkling when Ste lets his fear seep through. He desperately wants to ask Brendan what Warren's talking about. He'd expected them to be friends, but from what he can see they keep a distance from each other, and when they do interact Brendan's face turns to ice. It reminds Ste why he's here, that the man's capable of anything. But he can't help having respect for Brendan, that he's more choosy with his company than Ste would have thought.

Ste had woken up on his second day in prison expecting Brendan to at least give him an obligatory_ good morning, _but there had been nothing. Ste had started to wonder if their conversation the night before had been something he'd fabricated. That he'd imagined Brendan opening up to him and talking about his children. When he'd looked at Brendan he'd got nothing but a frosty glance in return, making his own smile die on his lips. He'd chattered on inanely about how uncomfy the beds were, about how he didn't know if he could stomach more porridge after the day before, but he'd got nothing in return until Brendan had rubbed his eyes and told him "It's too early in the morning for this, boy."

He'd thought that perhaps Brendan wasn't a morning person. It turned out he wasn't an afternoon or evening person either, becoming even more grumpy as the day went on. His tolerance for Ste also seemed to wane, so much so that Ste's attempts to lighten the mood that had settled between them when they were lying in bed that night had been met with a resounding "Shut the fuck up, boy."

Ste wasn't exactly an expert in psychology, but even he could work out what Brendan was trying to do. Shutting down on him like that so drastically, the merest glimmer of light that had been there previously expelled. It didn't take a genius to see that Brendan was scared by what he'd revealed to him. As far as Ste could tell, Brendan operated on one level: intimidation. He didn't need to use words or actions like Warren did to get what he wanted. When he walked into a room it would go quiet, everyone trying to avoid his gaze. Ste reckoned he had been wearing the hard man tag for so long that he'd forgotten what was on the other side.

On his eighth day in prison, Ste's woken in the middle of the night. For the first few days he'd found it impossible to get to sleep, half because of the noises around him, and half because of the torment that he was going through in his mind, thinking about what he'd done, about how strange it still was to have a virtual stranger sleeping beside him, one who'd threatened to break him arm. Soon it was like a survival instinct had kicked in, like his body was forcing him to sleep, that he knew he'd be a walking zombie if he didn't.

He turns around in the bed, wondering what's woken him, and it's then that he hears it. The sound scares him at first, reminding him of Lucas when he's having a bad dream, that kind of helpless cry. Ste's about to run out of bed and down the hall to his son, when he suddenly remembers where he is. It doesn't stop the noise though, of ruffling sheets and strangled moans.

Ste gets out of bed, wide awake now, and deliberates what to do. Brendan looks like he's having a war with his bed sheet, writhing right and left, close to shouting, although most of it is unintelligible. This is worse than when his kids are like this. He knows how to make it better with them, knows that he'll be able to gather them in his arms and make them forget with a cuddle or a story. With Brendan he stands in the dark, fearing that if he touches him he'll become even more wild and scared. Brendan's made it clear that he wants nothing to do with him, but Ste can't just leave him like this.

He approaches the bed slowly, and taps Brendan lightly on the shoulder when he's still enough. He knows that's not going to do it though, not when he's in this state.

"Brendan." He whispers it, not wanting to wake anyone in the cells next to him. The thought of them hearing Brendan like this, and making fun of him...

_He's a murderer. Why am I trying to protect him?_

Brendan just carries on twisting and turning in the bedsheets, sweat covering his forehead, and what looks a lot like tears as well.

"Brendan!" It's a hiss now, a desperate plea to please, _please_ hear him before anyone else does. He reaches out and puts a palm to his face, hopes the press of his skin against Brendan's will break him out of this spell.

He jumps, and Ste almost falls back against the floor, just about managing to steady himself. Before he can speak he's being slammed against the wall, his back colliding with an _oomph_, and he groans at the bruise that's sure to have formed by tomorrow.

"What do you think you're doing, eh?" Brendan's breath is hot in his face, and barely an inch is separating them. He's pretty sure he could count every hair on his moustache if he had to. Brendan's eyes are all black, pupils blown wide, blazing and furious, and Ste wonders if this is it, if this is where it all ends.

"Sorry, I was just trying to -"

"You think you can touch me like that, do you?"

"You were having a nightmare!"

"I don't have nightmares, Steven."

"Yeah? Well you were asleep, and you were almost screaming. It sounded like a nightmare to me." He doesn't mention the tears.

"You mouthy little..."

He closes his eyes and winces when Brendan brings his fist up to his face, and waits for the onslaught of the punch. He expects the pain to begin, for him to finally meet the real Brendan Brady that everyones been telling him about.

He chances a glance when it doesn't come, when the air is so quiet and still around him that he wonders if this is _his_ nightmare.

Brendan's face is tensed, a vein bulging on his forehead, and Ste can feel how hot his hands are on him, the pressure there. But his fist is drawn back now, and Ste allows himself to hope that this won't end with his face being smashed in.

"If you tell anyone about this..."

"I won't, I swear."

"Ah right, I forgot. You're not a snitch."

"No, not because of that."

Brendan considers him, his hold on him slackening the smallest amount. His eyes ghost over Ste's face like he's trying to find a secret buried there, like he expects the answers to unravel before him.

"Why not then?"

A million different reasons, mostly involving Ste wanting to make it out of here alive. But there's one reason that he can't truly put into words, not in a way that wouldn't make Brendan laugh at him, or question his own moral judgement. _He feels sorry for Brendan. _

Ste shrugs, and lets out an involuntary shiver. It's fucking cold in here. Wherever he goes he can't escape from it, can't find warmth no matter how hard he tries.

"Look, can I just get back to bed please?" It's less of a question and more of a demand, but Brendan doesn't attack him for it, instead moving into his own bed again. Ste shuts his eyes tightly, almost wishes he'd never bothered to wake Brendan, not if this is the thanks he gets. He's just grateful that he hasn't got a mark anywhere that's visible. He doesn't need the guys knowing he's a soft touch, although he's pretty sure that the only reason they're leaving him alone is because he's friends with Ethan.

They lie in silence for ten minutes, and Ste wonders if Brendan's gone to sleep. He's almost dozing off again when he hears him.

"It was just..." It's soft, almost tentative. He hasn't spoken like this since they talked about his kids on Ste's first night here. "I wasn't having a nightmare. It was just stupid stuff. Giant bugs trying to get me, you know?" Brendan laughs, loud and hollow, eventually stopping when Ste doesn't share the joke.

Ste's had nightmares like that himself before, and they sure as hell haven't been about insects or the standard being chased by someone. He's usually younger in them, sixteen or seventeen, and he seems to have lost the feeling in his limbs, so weak that he can barely stand. He's being manhandled, thrown into corners or pinned against the sofa by Terry, and the punches are so real that he can almost feel them. Amy used to have to shake him awake, hold him till the tears stopped and he was calm enough to breathe normally again.

Perhaps Brendan thinks he's an idiot, that even though he's ended up in here, he still doesn't have a clue about the real world. Ste understands the need to feed him some lie. It's strange how it's easier to pretend that he's scared of something silly and insubstantial rather than something _real_, and Ste's willing to keep up the falsehood if he is, but part of him is already searching for that Brendan from seven days ago, who told him something that was honest.

"Did you hear me?" Brendan asks through the darkness, and Ste can hear the urgency in his voice, his need for Ste to believe him.

"Yeah. We all have those kinds of dreams, don't we?"

Brendan grunts, a satisfaction of sorts, and Ste hears him turn over on his pillow, discussion clearly closed whether he wants it to be or not. Ste strokes his back, imagining the purple bruise that'll be there in the daylight.

"Sorry for slamming you against a wall by the way," he mutters acidly.

"No problem, you're forgiven," Brendan replies, voice already muffled, sleep beginning to take hold of him.

* * *

Ste is increasingly realising that he has a problem. A very big, long golden haired Simon Walker shaped problem.

To put it politely, he's almost certain that Simon fancies him.

To put it crudely, he's almost certain that Simon wants to suck his cock.

On day eight Ste's starting to think he may have to put a restraining order out against him, although he's not sure if those even apply in here. He has to do _something_ though. It's getting difficult to come up with excuses as to why he has to leave a room, not exactly having _I'm going shopping_ or_ I've got to go home now_ at his disposal.

At first he thought he was imagining the older man's attentions, thought that surely someone in this place had to be straight. God knows he'd seen Walker eyeing up the female staff often enough, bringing to mind a dog with its tongue hanging out when he was around them. Ste had heard him down the corridor.

"Give us a hand darling, won't you? It's been a long time, a man has needs..."

Some of the politer staff like Lynsey would merely shake their heads against his come ons, even laugh like they thought he was messing with them, when Ste knew he was doing anything but. The bitches of the place would swear at him, would shove his hands away fiercely and threaten to tell Tony. Ste thought this only encouraged Walker more, that he was drawn to the aggression of it all, a triumphant smirk on his face when they would turn on their heels and leave him with a slapped cheek.

He would grin at Ste if he witnessed it, would come close, croon "sweetheart," like it was his name now rather than a term of endearment, and ask if he wanted him to "sort him out."

It had been met by Ste's blunt "Excuse me?", only for Walker to pretend that this was a regular conversation that people had, and would press him further, asking him if he wanted a night with one of the "more obliging members of staff."

"You don't...you don't rape them, do you?" Ste had asked, horrified.

Waller had laughed at the top of his lungs, deep and almost musical, like Ste was a circus act on display for him.

"Oh sweetheart, no. There are certain...women in here who will do what we want, you know? Especially for a pretty face like yours."

"Er...no thanks. I'm not really into that."

"Not your type?" He'd said thoughtfully. "Want something more masculine, do you?"

Ste had blushed before he'd been able to stop himself. It was the first time anyone had ever asked him about that. He'd planned his answer in his head, _I'm straight_, but under Walker's gaze he found himself floundering, stuttering over his words, Walker growing even more delighted, reveling in Ste's awkwardness.

"You're adorable, really. Especially when you get all angry at me like you are now, and pout. Those lips..."

The focus on _those lips_ and _those eyes_ and _that body_ was what made Ste question his earlier assessment. He was now pretty certain that Walker would fuck anything as long as it made him come.

Every time he saw Ste he couldn't resist making a comment, lowering his voice and all but gyrating against Ste's groin. He was no prude, but most of the time he had to resist the urge to pull at Walker's hair like they were in the playground, and send him flying. When he heard about Walker's black belt in martial arts, he was less keen.

This was of course the black belt that no one ever stopped hearing about. Walker had taken to joining Ste, Doug and Ethan's table in the dining room when Warren wasn't about, and every day would consist of at least one mention of that infamous prize of his, and a move to go with it. Once it had involved a fly kick that had sent a man's tray soaring through the air, the contents of his lunch ending up over the ceiling and the floor. It had taken four prison officers to wrestle them off each other, Walker winking at Ste while he was dragged off to his cell.

Doug was the first one to bring it up. A positive to their friendship was that they were honest with each other. A downside to their friendship was that they were honest with each other.

"I think Walker likes you, Ste."

"What gives you that idea?"

Doug hadn't noticed his sarcasm, or at the very least had chosen to ignore it. "He keeps on staring at your..."

"Pants?"

"Well...yes. And he keeps on making comments about your -"

"Arse?"

Doug shifted in his seat, looking disarmed that Ste was already one step ahead of the game.

"You seem alright about all this."

Ste shrugged. "Not much I can do, is there? He's harmless anyway."

Doug started coughing against the water he'd just been swallowing, his face going beetroot red. Ste slapped him on the back, not stopping until Doug shot him what Ste believed was known as a death glare.

"Harmless? Simon Walker? Are you crazy?" Doug panted, his accent even thicker when angry.

"Obviously not harmless, I mean he's in here, but -"

"No Ste, there are no buts or excuses. The guy's like some kind of vulture."

Ste couldn't help laughing at that image, but Doug didn't seem to find it so funny.

"Do you even know why he's in here?"

Ste shook his head. His mind had been so consumed with his cellmate's past that he hadn't even considered to ask about Walker's.

"He was a policeman, Ste."

A policeman? Another one? He was starting to question just how corrupt the law system really was.

"He's in here for killing a female colleague."

Ste had taken a swig of water, had felt his mouth begin to dry up. "Why?" After the things he'd seen in here so far, he wasn't even sure that question even applied anymore, but the person he was before still had to ask it, had to find some sense in all of this.

"He says she stopped his brother's dealers from being caught. His brother died, see - overdosed." Doug looked at the table, quiet suddenly.

"That's why he doesn't talk to you," Ste said, the puzzle pieces suddenly clicking into place. Whenever Walker would come over he'd pointedly ignore Doug, not even glancing over at him. It was like he didn't even exist.

"I can't blame him after what I did. But someone who killed another person the way he did..."

"Was it brutal?"

"You don't want to know the details."

He didn't press it, his desire to be able to survive in this place and live with these men outweighing his almost morbid curiosity.

Instead he kept his distance from Walker, making a quick exit from the dining room when he saw him enter, not indulging him and his teasing, even trying to train his lips to not pout, like that's something he was fucking aware of in the first place.

He thought that he'd got away with it, that Walker had decided to find a new toy to play with. He feels a sinking in his stomach when he hears Walker's footsteps approach his cell, that same smile on his face, twisting his features rather than beautifying them, making Ste instantly wary and nervous.

Brendan looks just as surprised to see him as Ste is. Since Ste had found them together on his first night, they've never both been in the cell again.

"What are you doing here?"

"As welcoming as ever, Brendan." Walker carries on smiling, like it's a permanent fixture on his face, plastered in.

"I'm busy."

Ste can't help but smile as he regards Brendan stretched on the bed, a torn copy of Hamlet blocking his face. He seems to have a thing for the classics, can quote out whole pieces of dialogue from memory alone if he's feeling in a more sociable mood. It all sounds like another language to Ste, whose only experience of Shakespeare was managing to stay awake for a quarter of the film, mainly because he thought Juliet was quite fit.

"I'm not actually after you." Brendan and Walker stare at Ste at the same time.

"You want him?" Brendan asks skeptically, and Ste can't help but be offended, irrational or not.

"It's been a while since me and Ste had a catch up," he says lightly, like they're always meeting for a good chin wag over tea and scones.

Brendan puts down his book and stares at Ste. There's that mask there again, impenetrable, not giving a single flicker of emotion away.

"You want me to leave you alone?"

"That's what I'm saying, Brendan -" Simon begins.

"I'm asking Steven." His voice is firm, but anger cuts through it, unmistakable. Ste longs to understand the cause of it, but can't think with Walker's eyes on him, unwavering.

He thinks about Doug's warning. Ste feels a kind of safety when Brendan's with him that he doesn't feel with Walker. He must be going mad from his time in here, to trust one murderer over another, the murderer who's threatened him more than once. Walker in comparison has been nothing but friendly to him. More than friendly, all but giving Ste a marriage proposal and a permanent bed to sleep in, a warm body beside him.

He knows the one he'd rather hand over his life to though.

"It's okay, Brendan," he replies, nodding his consent.

Brendan's expression is still hard and cold, and Ste has to look away from the intensity of it, of the unnerving feeling that Brendan's trying to get him to change his mind.

Walker stands to one side to let him pass, but even with the distance Brendan still shoves into his shoulder when he leaves the cell, and Walker smirks.

"Your cellmate's so touchy."

"He's not that bad."

"Careful Ste, you're starting to sound defensive."

Ste sighs, knows he's in for another conversation full of Walker's teasing and innuendos. It takes a certain amount of energy that he doesn't have right now.

"That pout..." Walker begins, tongue darting out from between his lips, eyes hooded.

"Will you stop going on about that! I can't control my mouth, can I?"

He stares at Walker fearfully for a moment, regretting his foolish outburst, remembering who he's dealing with here as all humour vanishes from Walker's face. After a moment the older man tips his head back and laughs, and Ste doesn't know what he finds more terrifying.

"You and that temper of yours. Has anyone ever told you that your accent is really quite adorable?"

Ste crinkles his nose. "Not really..." he trails off, remembering Brendan's _straight from the gutter _comment_._

"Well a guy like you should be told that. And often."

Ste doesn't know what to say to that, has never had so many compliments fired at him. He thinks that perhaps he should feel grateful that he's not being beaten up, but he wishes Brendan were back in the cell, quoting Hamlet, even telling him off for breathing too loudly like he's prone to do.

"There's no need to move away from me, Ste."

He hadn't even realised he was doing it, that he's unconsciously shuffling back further onto his bed and away from Walker.

"I'm not going to hurt you."

That's debatable, but Ste doesn't reply, thinks that anything he says at this point will only be used against him, twisted into something else entirely by Walker.

"Can I sit down?" Walker gestures to the foot of Ste's bed, and Ste nods reluctantly, biting his tongue and stopping himself from saying _there's a perfectly good spare bed over there. _

"You've been very quiet these past few days," Walker continues, and there's an edge to his voice that's unmistakable.

"Er...yeah, sorry. Just been busy, haven't I?"

"Usually I wouldn't give a fuck, but there's something about you."

Ste swallows, doesn't know what to do with such honesty.

"Is there?" He says, and it comes out like a squeak.

Walker laughs. "Come on now Ste, don't be coy. You know there is."

_I don't. I really, really don't. _

"You must know the effect you have on people?"

He has to speak up, has to stop this conversation going where he thinks it's heading.

"Look Walker -"

"Simon."

"Look Simon, I'm really not looking for any...trouble. I just want to get on with the next few months, keep my head down."

"Sounds like a pretty dull existence, darling."

Ste can't help his anger from boiling over at that, any thoughts of shyness momentarily forgotten. "I'm not darling, or sweetheart, or -"

Walker smiles again, and Ste realises he's just given him exactly what he wants, that he's feeding this game of his.

"That's more like it. I enjoy it when you're feisty. It suits you."

Ste crosses his arms, knows that it's immature to be in a sulk at twenty three, but can't help it around this man. He's so fucking infuriating.

"It'll also bode well for me when you're in my bed."

Ste blinks, wonders whether he's started to hallucinate sentences.

"You what?" He barks out, wouldn't be surprised if the entire prison heard him.

"I like vocal men, Ste."

"No, I mean - what was the first part? Me being in your bed?" He's flustered, and almost doesn't want to ask, wants to pretend that this entire conversation has never happened, but Walker isn't the kind who'll let him forget.

"Ah yes," Walker says casually, and Ste wonders how many times he's done this, gone to someone's cell and introduced the idea of having sex with them like it's a topic of regular discussion. "I'd like us to sleep together." He pauses, looks at Ste for a second then rolls his eyes. "Honestly, there's no need to look so shocked, Ste. You must have known that I'd planned this since I met you."

Ste gawps, wonders how he has the fucking nerve to say these things to him. A _plan_, a plan like Ste's been a pawn all this time, a means to an end, no free will of his own. He already feels like all his freedoms been taken away from him in here. The last thing he wants is someone else in his life making decisions for him. He's never going to let someone do what Warren is to Ethan.

"I've got to admit, I was expecting a slightly happier reaction..."

Ste doesn't bother to hide his disgust. "So let me get this straight -" He breaks off to roll his eyes at Walker's juvenile giggling. "You want to...sleep with me - and I don't have any say in this?"

It's Walker turn to look disgusted. "What do you think I am, some kind of rapist?"

Ste stares at him, not quite sure what he is.

"I'm here to discuss the terms of a contract Ste, not to jump on you and force you to do something you don't want to. I like my lovers to want me back. I'm strange like that."

Ste's anger doesn't die down, only rekindles and lights up like a flame. "Contract? So I'm supposed to sign away my body and my rights now, am I?"

Walker strokes his forehead, closing his eyes for a moment. When he speaks it's low, his exhaustion showing through. "You're beautiful sweetheart, but you do give me a headache. Can't you just listen for one second? There's plenty of time to shout when you're lying under me."

Ste doesn't even bother arguing back anymore, knows that it's a lost cause, that he may as well be banging his head against a brick wall.

"I call it a contract because there are certain things that we need to agree on, if you decide you can comply with the terms. The fact that you think I'm some kind of sex offender is quite frankly insulting, but I'll forgive you because of your youth, which I intend on taking full advantage of, believe me. You're the most flexible thing I've ever seen. You also seem completely unaware of your own sexuality, which is...well, endearing, just like the rest of you. I'll have fun showing you exactly who you are."

"I know who I am, Simon," Ste speaks between gritted teeth.

"Do you, though? From what I can tell you don't have much of a clue. If you did then you'd understand exactly the way people see you, the way I see you. Let me have a shot at guessing how your life was before you came here, Ste. You had a girlfriend, right?"

Ste pictures Rae, her long blonde hair, the nights he'd spent over at her place before they'd split up, the feel of her body, warm and accommodating under his.

"I've been there, trust me. They fulfill certain needs, don't they? Until they start nagging you to buy a place of your own or spend more money on them. I'm not going to ask you for that, Ste."

"That's handy isn't it, seeing as how we can't exactly buy our own mansion in here. And sorry Simon, but you won't be getting any roses off me."

Walker's lips quirk up. "Have you ever been with a man before, Ste?"

Ste stands up quickly from his bed, grabs Walker's arm and tries to drag him to the door.

"That's it, that's enough, end of conversation."

"Ooh, did I strike a nerve there?" He looks like the cat thats got the cream, and Ste has the desire to mess up those sculptured cheekbones of his.

"You can't ask me personal things like that."

"I'm not asking for positions and whether you rimmed a guy. Just whether you've ever tested the waters."

"It's none of your bloody business!" Ste says fiercely, Walker's body unmovable, even under his harshest grip.

"See it actually is, baby. If we're going to be sleeping together then I need to know if you're a novice or if we can get right to the good stuff, if you know what I mean."

"Do you ask all prisoners this kind of thing?" Ste asks, heat rising to his cheeks.

"Only the cute ones."

"Well here's my answer to your contract - I'm not signing it. And we're not going to be sleeping together."

Walker gets himself out of Ste's grip, shrugging him off so hard that Ste almost buckles.

"Is there someone else? Please don't say you're turning this into a melodramatic love triangle," he says wryly.

"Yes Walker, there is someone else. His name's Doug, we're a couple."

"Sarcasm only entertains me so much before it gets very boring, darling."

"No, there's no one!" Ste sighs, admitting defeat and sitting back on his bed, not particularly wanting to go back up against Walker and his years of martial arts. "I'm not gay."

"Neither am I."

"Well I'm not - I'm not bi, either."

"Say that with a bit more conviction, please."

Ste groans, wondering if Walker would even let him past right now if he tried to make his escape.

"What do you want from me?"

"I want you to say the truth, Ste. That's all."

"Fine." Ste takes a deep intake of breath, barely knowing what's about to come out of his mouth before he speaks the words. "Maybe I'm not completely...straight."

Walker stills, seemingly satisfied by this. "Go on."

"Maybe I've had...thoughts." _Thoughts which have ended with someone being balls deep in me._

"Thoughts about me? You're only human."

Ste doesn't share the joke, looking down at his hands, biting his nails nervously. He's never talked about this with anyone before. It feels like he's betraying someone just by saying it, the old version of himself who he thought he knew.

"It's probably just a phase, isn't it?" He says, more to himself than to Walker.

"Ah yes, we all have those phases."

"Do we?" Ste asks hopefully.

"Of course. A bit like an obsession with Pokemon or scooters. Every man wakes up one day and thinks "I'd quite like to suck that guy's cock." Perfectly natural rite of passage."

Ste aims his pillow squarely at Walker's head, and he ducks, laughing.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, you know. Who's going to judge you for it in here?"

"Er, _everyone_?" Ste answers like it's obvious.

"Not with me around you they won't. The boys I've been with have been treated like Gods in this place."

"Oh right, so I'm just one in a long list of many?"

Walker smiles at him fondly. "Not jealous already, are you?"

"Don't be daft."

"If it helps, you're by far the most gorgeous man I've ever seen."

"How many times have you said that before, eh?"

"You need to learn how to accept a compliment, Ste."

_And you need to learn how not to come into someones cell and casually propose some kind of twisted sex contract. _

"So, do I have my answer?" Walker continues, staring at Ste intently, and Ste can see the desperate hope there.

"Simon, I..." _No, basically. _

"Look, don't make any rash decisions now. Sleep on it. I'll give you a week. Just don't disappear on me again, okay? I missed that peachy little arse of yours."

"Right..." Ste says, speechless.

Ste sees a shadow behind Walker, his eyes drinking in the sight of Brendan leaning against the door frame, arms crossed, eyes on the floor. It's not like him not to stare at someone until they're the first to look away. Brendan doesn't just blend into the background, and even when he tries he's still the thing that Ste's eyes are locked to, the energy that settles around him drawing him in.

"Saved by the tache man," Walker says, turning to Brendan, and Ste wishes he could read the expression on his face. Every time he thinks he's worked out their relationship, it seems to morph into something else.

"Hope I gave you ladies enough private time."

"You did. We had an interesting conversation."

"I can only begin to imagine," Brendan replies, chewing his gum loudly. He looks at Ste for the first time then, and Ste sees his eyes travel over his body. He has the strongest thought that he's scanning for bruises.

"It was a pleasure to talk to you like always, Ste. Think about what I said, yes?"

Ste nods, already knowing what the answer is, but the possibility of Walker staying away from him for a week is enough for him to comply and pretend he's seriously considering his proposition.

When Walker's gone Ste stares at Brendan expectantly, waiting for him to make some kind of comment, any acknowledgment of what's just gone on here. Brendan merely collapses on the bed and picks up his book like nothings even happened.

Ste hadn't planned on saying anything to anyone. The idea of even telling Doug seemed crazy, but now the desire to tell Brendan is like an itch that he has to scratch.

"You'll never guess what Walker just said to me -"

"He wants to have sex with you. Big fucking deal. Now be quiet won't you boy, I'm busy here."


	4. Chapter 4

_Day 9_

* * *

On day nine Ste hears the words that he's been dreading. One of the officers comes to find him in his cell, his mind still foggy, his body still slow and languid with sleep.

"The governor wants to see you."

He goes to Tony's office quickly, relieved that Brendan's not here to witness his humiliation. It feels like a death march, different scenarios running through his brain of what he could have done wrong.

Tony's immediately there to greet him, a handshake once again exchanged, and Ste can feel himself shivering. He longs for aloofness, wishes he could lounge in the chair and put on a show of confidence like the other men would. He never has been good at being anyone but himself.

"Thanks for coming down here, Ste." _Like I had a choice. _"I've been speaking to Lynsey about your work in English class." _Oh shit. She's ratted me out. The bitch._

"Whatever she's said -"

"Were you ever going to tell anyone about your dyslexia?"

Ste closes his mouth, his words dying on his lips. Not even Pauline had ever guessed about it, had called him stupid and lazy, told his teachers that he was born that way.

"It's a very common thing you know, Ste. Nothing to be ashamed of."

"What are you, my counsellor now?"

Tony laughs. "You definitely don't have any problems when it comes to answering back, do you?"

"If you've brought me here for some lecture..."

"I haven't," Tony says, turning serious. "But I do need to tell you that Lynsey's advised me that you attend a different class -"

Ste stands up so quickly that his chair falls to the floor with a crash. "She's kicking me out?"

"That's not what I said -"

"It all means the same thing! She just doesn't have the guts to tell me herself, so she got you to do it for her!"

He can't believe he'd allowed himself to trust her, that he'd actually felt bad for what he'd said to her. He was right all along. She's given up on him just like everyone else.

"Sit down please," Tony says sternly.

"No! This is a load of shit. I'm out of here." He heads to the door, but the officer stares at Tony, looking for his orders and then blocking Ste's way.

Ste spins around. "You're trapping me in here now then?" He asks accusingly.

"In all fairness, you are in a prison."

Ste scowls, and reluctantly lifts the chair back up, and plonks himself down on it, resolutely facing away from Tony. He knows he's behaving like a six year old right now, but he thinks he's earned the right. It's going to be humiliating to have to tell Doug why he's suddenly vanished from class.

"Lynsey discussed this with me because we're colleagues, Ste. She wanted to tell you herself, but I asked her if I could have this conversation."

Ste can't help but be curious. "What do you mean?" He tries to keep his best indifferent voice on for appearances sake.

"Lynsey said you're very intelligent."

He snorts. "If I was then she wouldn't be getting rid of me, would she?"

"There's different ways to be clever. She said you're excellent when it comes to the practical tasks, but that she feels it would be unfair to you to enter you for the exam when you find it hard in the written activities."

_Hard meaning I'm crap._

"It doesn't mean you can't still be in one of our other English classes."

"Just not the one for the smart people, you mean?"

Tony sighs. "Do you enjoy the class - honestly?"

Honestly? No. Ste hates having to sit there and put so much concentration into the work that it feels like his eyes are going to bleed out of their sockets. He hates watching Doug and everyone else frantically scribbling on their pieces of paper, with no idea how hard he finds it at times to write a single sentence.

"Not really."

"Then why don't you do something you really like?"

The problem is, Ste has no idea what he likes, what he's truly good at. For a while he thought his greatest skill was successfully shoplifting things, but it turns out he couldn't even get that right.

He shrugs. "Like what?"

"Cooking," Tony says, quick as anything, and Ste knows now that he's had this little speech prepared this whole time.

"Cooking? Are you kidding me? Do I look like someone who wears an apron and bakes a cake?"

Tony looks at him with amusement. "I'm not asking you to be the next Nigella Lawson, Ste."

"Good, because I don't think someone would want me licking my fingers like she does, do you?"

"All I'm suggesting is that you give it a chance. Have you ever done much cooking?"

"If you mean using the toaster, then yes." He'd been the one who'd made most of the meals in the house when he'd got old enough, otherwise it would just be a takeaway when Pauline and Terry could afford it. He remembers once bringing his mum tea and toast, laying it on a tray, putting a clean napkin there and everything. She'd woken with such a start that she'd sent the tray flying, the breakfast ending up on the carpet, Pauline telling him off for making a mess.

"Everyone has to start somewhere," Tony replies, like it's that simple, as though he can be the next culinary mastermind if he just tries. He really doesn't get how this works. Ste will have burnt the whole kitchen down by the end of the first lesson.

"I'll even let you choose the dish if you come."

"Wait - you're not the teacher, are you?"

"I was a trained, award winning chef before I came into this job, Ste." He says it with such an amount of pride that Ste wouldn't be surprised if he had all his medals stashed away in the safety of the cupboards, getting them out every day to dust them lovingly.

"But...is that allowed? I mean, do you even have the time to do that here?" He's starting to realise that Tony's not the conventional heard-but-not-seen governor that he'd had in mind.

"Don't worry about what I can and can't do, Ste," he says defensively. "Worry about yourself. So what do you say? You must be sick of all this prison food by now. When you close your eyes, what do you most dream of eating?"

"Chocolate," he answers immediately. He's sick of the stuff that imitates it in here. "Any type, I don't care."

Tony laughs. "I think that can be arranged..."

* * *

He nearly walks out of the classroom before he's even set two foot inside.

"Oh fuck."

His cellmate looks even less pleased to see him.

Being within distance of a burning flame and Brendan Brady wasn't exactly what Ste had in mind.

"What are you doing here?"

"Thought I'd be out preening the bushes with Foxy, did you? The further away that idiot and a pair of garden sheers are from me, the better."

Ste takes a step closer to him, trying to work out whether it's safe. He's been trying to ignore Brendan ever since he made it perfectly clear that he couldn't give a fuck what Ste did. Two could play that game.

The infuriating thing about him though is his limitless capacity to surprise Ste, and make it so he just _has_ to ask.

"I never imagined you as a cook, Brendan."

Brendan looks mock offended, his lips parting in a display of pretend shock. "Really? You wound me, Steven."

"Ha ha, you're a comedian." But he can't help smiling all the same. "So why are you really here?"

"I like eating," he says emphatically. "So you better not disappoint me."

It takes Ste aback even further when he sees Tony striding into the classroom. Gone is the sharply tailored suit and any sense of professional detachment. He's wearing an apron and chefs whites, a large cook's hat and a beaming smile that could smash windows with its brightness and intensity.

He gathers everyone round, and Ste takes the opportunity to look at who he's with. The difference between the men in here and the ones in English class is vast. Most look like they could batter him with a rolling pin, and Ste finds himself standing closer to Brendan, right now thinking he's the better alternative.

"Right everyone! First of all I want to welcome our new classmate Ste. I've told him he can have first pick of what we make today - sorry Silas, you'll get your turn next week instead."

Ste tries to make his best apologetic face as Silas, an older man with grey hair and glasses, glowers at him, giving him the finger when Tony's not looking.

"So Ste - you said something with chocolate?"

"Yeah." He suddenly feels like his request's foolish, something that a child might ask for. He's wondering what kind of things the men make here, if they're going to laugh at him. _You better not disappoint me. _"Uh you know...maybe like a cake or something."

"With cream in. Buttercream," Brendan hisses beside him.

"Uh..."

"Chocolate buttercream."

"Sorry Ste, was there something else?" Tony asks him expectantly.

"Chocolate buttercream in it too."

The men around him hum in approval. Maybe the way to get into mens good books really is just through their stomachs.

Ste finds that he needn't have worried about the class being too advanced. For one thing, Tony's there every step of the way, bursting over with enthusiasm, looking like he's about to break into song and dance around them at any moment. For another, there are only so many things they can actually do, as there are minimal staff, so they're not allowed to work around the gas ring or with any sharp cutlery. A prison officer counts any metal spoons and forks that they do use, and Ste never thought he'd feel so guilty about using a piece of kitchen equipment.

It turns out Brendan wasn't kidding when he said he likes eating. Tony pairs them together, seems to think that just because they share a cell they're now bonded for life. At first they barely speak a word to each other, but even when Ste's back is turned he can sense Brendan's eyes on him, following him wherever he goes.

He leaves most of the actual work to Ste, his only contribution consisting of sticking his fingers into the chocolate buttercream.

"Oi!" Ste pushes him away. "That's for you, that is!"

"Exactly."

"Well there's not going to be any left for the cake if you keep on doing that!"

"Who died and made you Gordon Ramsay?"

"Gordon Ramsay? No way. Jamie Oliver, thank you very much." He puffs out his chest, quite liking this whole 'I'm a chef' pretense. It's better than being stuck in a classroom, trying to fool everyone that he knows what he's doing.

"This isn't bad you know," Brendan says, licking his fingers clean.

Ste can't help but cling onto the compliment, sensing that every one from Brendan is precious and rare.

"Not much to it really. It's all in the technique, isn't it?" He's letting himself get carried away, reveling in this new experience of not failing at something. He feels oddly proud, Brendan looking at him for instruction.

"Maybe you can bake a cake for your boyfriend Walker."

Ste stops in mixing the buttercream, tries to resume the stirring like nothing's ever happened, but it's too late, Brendan's words having already had the desired effect.

"Didn't think you gave a fuck."

"Language, Steven. Tut tut."

"Your words, not mine," Ste reminds him cooly.

"I was tired last night."

Ste scoffs. "You can't just tell me to get lost one minute, then care about me the next."

"Who says I care about you?"

Ste stirs the bowl with more vigor than necessary. "It's a figure of speech."

"Really? Never heard that one. Wow Steven, they really should have kept you on in those English classes."

Ste turns to him, fucking sick of these mixed messages and mind games. He's got enough to think about already, the issue of what Walker's going to do to him if he refuses his contract weighing heavily on his mind. He doesn't need this right now, for Brendan to be another person in his life who puts him down and regards him as some kind of pathetic joke.

"Maybe you should go and work with someone else."

"You kicking me out? I thought we were a team."

"You mean I cook for you while you insult me and eat everything?"

"Pretty much, yeah." Brendan's eyes dance, and Ste tells himself that he can't laugh, no way, not under any circumstances.

"I suppose you think I'm stupid, don't you? Getting kicked out of English."

Ste expects a snappy retort as quick as lightning, _Well you're hardly Einstein Steven_, anything that'll make him feel small and even more insignificant. He's surprised when Brendan says nothing for a moment, taking the bowl from Ste and stirring the contents.

"I never did that well at school either."

"You? Mr Hamlet?"

"Just because I read a book it doesn't make me a scholar, kid."

"What's it about, anyway? It sounds dead confusing." He can't believe he's talking about Shakespeare with Brendan. He can't believe he's talking about Shakespeare with anyone.

"Revenge. Madness. Loyalty. Death."

"Sounds really happy."

"You don't read a tragedy for the jokes, Steven."

"Guess not." Ste leans against the counter, enjoying seeing Brendan doing some of the work for a change. Tony's too busy showing off his chef skills to a group of the men to pay attention to them, and it's one of the first times that Ste hasn't felt trapped in a corner, in the spotlight, like something that's being inspected.

"So what were you like at school, then? If you say you didn't do that well?"

All Ste can picture in his mind is a sixteen year old Brendan with a ridiculously long moustache. He wonders if Brendan had any idea back then of what his future would consist of, that he'd be serving a life sentence, that he'd kill his own father. The idea that it came from nowhere, that it was all unplanned and a complete surprise scares Ste more than anything. It means it could happen to anyone, to him.

"What is this, twenty one questions?" Brendan replies gruffly.

"I'm just making conversation, aren't I?"

"Am I that fascinating?" Brendan comes right up close, invading Ste's personal space like he did when Ste woke him from his nightmare. But it's not like then. Ste doesn't want to take a step back or push him away. He can smell Brendan, musky and masculine, hot breath on his face.

"Maybe," he answers honestly. _Definitely_.

"Hmmm." Brendan steps away, and the loss of contact is strange, cold. "You wouldn't have wanted to know me when I was younger, Steven. You wouldn't have liked me."

"Who says I like you now?" Ste teases, playing Brendan at his own game.

Brendan looks at him, momentarily shocked, like he can't believe someone has the nerve to say that to him. Ste wonders if he's going to get the bowl smashed over his head, but then Brendan's face softens.

"You're not scared of me, are you? Not like the others."

Ste's about to argue, about to admit that actually he's pretty damn terrified of Brendan a lot of the time, about what he'll do to him, about what he's capable of. But he stops himself, realising that this hasn't prevented him from talking back, to pushing him to his limits at times, to waking him in the middle of the night, no matter what the repercussions.

"No. No, not really."

"I'm questioning my earlier assessment of you not being an idiot."

"Is this the part where you tell me you're the big bad wolf and you'll swallow me whole?"

_I'm mocking a murderer. Oh fuck._

Brendan's eyes travel to Ste's lips, and Ste wonders if he's planning on hitting him square in the mouth.

"You should stick to your school boy friends. You're safe with them."

"We do have to live together though, Brendan. It would be nice if you didn't ignore me the whole time."

"What did you imagine, that we'd be plaiting each others hair and singing Britney together?"

Ste rolls his eyes. He's starting to get what Walker meant about sarcasm wearing thin.

"You know what I mean. You don't have to be a little girl over it."

Brendan tenses. "A little girl?"

"Yeah! In fact no, that's an insult to my Leah. She's more mature than you."

Now he's really pushed it. He wouldn't blame Brendan for stuffing his head full on into the cake. He just wishes he'd be honest with him, say what he's feeling, drop the big mystery act and the defensiveness. He doesn't seem like Warren, taking kicks at people just because he can, because it gives him some kind of perverse pleasure.

He's sure that Tony walking towards them is the only thing that stops Brendan from taking a swipe at him.

"Wow Ste, you actually got Brendan to lift a finger! What's your secret?" He pats Brendan on the back, and Ste can see his face tensing, his expression twisting at Tony when he's not looking. He's never seen anything like it, someone being so intimidating one minute, and almost childlike the next. Perhaps he's just got an insight into what teenage Brendan was like.

While the men are waiting for the cake to be finished, they sit around the classroom, Tony desperately trying to make something that resembles conversation. Ste has a feeling he does this a lot, trying to be the glue that holds them all together. He's not ready to admit yet that Tony was right, that being here, even with Brendan making digs at him and being as cryptic as ever, is preferable to trying to force his brain to do something that it pointedly refuses to.

As Ste stares at the clock, he begins to grow more and more nervous, and the image of the buttercream suddenly makes him feel sick. Perhaps requesting a cake wasn't exactly such a good idea, especially with Silas kicking his chair, still bitter for having to wait a week longer for his apple crumble.

"If you fidget anymore I'm going to throw you off that chair," Brendan growls in his ear, and it only makes Ste more anxious. "What are you so skittish about anyway? Worried about your night of passion with Simon?"

"No! It's visitors hours soon, isn't it?"

This is the first time that Amy's agreed to come and see him. Every time he's phoned her she's barely said two words to him before handing over to the kids. At first he was relieved that she was even still allowing him to speak to Leah and Lucas, fearing that she'd keep him from them for good. But now he's itching to see her in person, to try and explain how he ended up in this position. He just wants her to know how sorry he is.

"Is your ex coming down?" Brendan says, catching on.

"Yeah. She's not bringing the kids because...well, she says that it wouldn't be good for them, seeing me in this place."

"She has a point." Ste's surprised that he's defending her.

"I haven't seen them in over a week though!" He protests.

"Do you really want your kids to see you in this dump? I wouldn't even let my oldest boy come here. Imagine what that would do to them."

It's like Brendan changes when he talks about his children. Ste noticed it the first time, when he opened up about them. The mask slips, and he forgets to be in control, to project the image which he wants everyone to see. This is the version that Ste likes, that he's kept on trying to dig for this past week. It's as though Ste's looking in a mirror and seeing his thoughts reflected back at him, and somehow Brendan's not just a prisoner anymore. He's a person, a person who Ste could have been, who he already is in so many ways.

"I just miss them," Ste admits in a small voice.

"They're too young to remember this. You'll be back with them before you know it, and they'll have forgotten you were ever away. Trust me."

_Trust me. _He doesn't know if he's stupid for finding that he wants to.

"You think so?" He craves Brendan's reassurance, knows that he's not the type to give it away for free unless it means something, that he has no obligation to make Ste feel better.

"Of course." Brendan doesn't break eye contact with him, doesn't make a jibe, and Ste feels himself calming down, the nausea leaving his body.

If he's truly honest with himself, one of the reasons he's been craving visitors so much isn't just because of his longing to see Amy. This is his first chance to see the men's friends and family. _Brendan's_ friends and family. Ste's created an image of Cheryl in his head, of a female version of Brendan with hardened features, tough and just as detached as him.

When Ste meets her, it's a bit of a shock. She practically bounces into the place, so full of energy, from the large curly hair to the shock of a pink outfit, even more bright in the dull, grey surroundings. She's wearing a low cut top and high heels, and all the mens eyes fall to her, some not bothering to hide the inevitable cat calls and wolf whistles. "_Alright darling?" "Always a pleasure to see your sister again, Brendan." "Give us your number, won't you?"_

Ste can't help staring, although he can't say he's interested in her like that. He had hoped he'd discover more about Brendan through his sister, but it's more of a mystery than ever.

He can immediately tell that they're close, Brendan enveloping her in a hug, an intimacy that he sure as hell hasn't shared with anyone else in this place. They hold onto each other for as long as possible before the officers break them apart. When they sit down Ste can see tears in Cheryl's eyes, contrasting so acutely with her joyful outer shell. She takes Brendan's hands between hers and asks "_How are you?" _like nothing in the world is more important to her.

Ste strains to listen to their conversation, but it's then that he sees Amy arrive. He stands to greet her, and does his best to paint a smile on his face, hoping that his nine days in prison haven't changed him somehow, half scared that she won't even recognise him.

He doesn't get a hug like Brendan, but he doesn't want to push it. He has to wait for her to make the first move, to build up the trust that was lost there. He's screwed up enough times to know how this works.

"You look like you've lost some weight." As far as conversation openers go, it's not what Ste was expecting.

"It's all the prison food. Tastes like cardboard."

Amy doesn't look that well herself, circles around her eyes like she's barely been sleeping. She looks around the room nervously, eyes flickering over the other prisoners.

"So...what's it like in here?"

He doesn't know what to say to that. If he tells her the truth, that he's scared for his life at times, that he dreams of the day when he'll be released, then he worries she'll go back home imagining their kids without a father, that there's no way he'll return in one piece. She'll never buy him painting it like a five star hotel though. He never has been able to fool Amy.

"It's what you'd expect."

She nods soberly. "Terrible then?"

He laughs softly, unable to deny that much.

"How are the kids?"

Amy's face softens. "They miss you."

"I miss them too. You've got no idea how much." It comes out then, words tumbling over each other before he can stop it. He needs to get this out, doesn't know how much time he has left. "I'm so sorry about what happened, Ames. I did stupid things, I didn't think clearly at all. I know you're angry, but -"

"Angry doesn't really come close, Ste."

That stills him, as he takes in her expression, the barely concealed bitterness there.

"I did it for you."

Wrong thing to say.

"Don't you dare put this on me. I didn't force you to steal those things. You lied to me - I thought you were going to work everyday, not nicking things around town! I never asked you to do that for me, so don't for one second try to say that I'm to blame."

"That's not - that's not what I meant. I just wanted the best for you, the best for Leah and Lucas. I didn't want them going through what I did."

"Oh yeah, because their dad ending up in jail is really giving them a good childhood, isn't it?"

Ste knows none of this is making sense to her, that no matter how many times he tries to explain away and excuse his actions, he still royally fucked things up. What's more, he's just dug himself an even deeper hole.

"You know how much I love you all." It's all he has left, the only certainty in his life right now. He can't tell her that he'll make it up to her, because he's not entirely sure what that would take. How can he be the man and the father they want him to be if he hasn't even got a clue how to like himself? He hasn't ever looked in the mirror and seen someone he's truly proud of. Ending up in here has just reaffirmed all his beliefs: he's no good.

If they were anywhere else, their little display would have caught other peoples attention. Ste can image eyes being drawn to them at their domestic, people judging and making assumptions without even knowing them. In here, they barely even register on anyones radar. The other men are all too busy with their own visitors, their own dramas.

Men who Ste's heard threatening to crack others skulls in are now in floods of tears when faced with their wives and girlfriends. Some are visited by their adult children, and its only with input from the officers that they don't cling onto them for dear life.

Ste can see how much Brendan's trying to hold it together. His face is strained, like he's consciously having to control it and regulate his emotions, a tick going off in his cheek. Cheryl seemed to abandon all hope of being calm the moment she entered the building, and Ste can hear snatches of their conversation. _"I'm going to get you out of this place." "We're going to try again with the appeal." "Wrong conviction...people have to know that." _

It answers Ste's question of how she could possibly still visit her brother after what he's done. She doesn't believe he's guilty. He wonders if Amy would have that kind of loyalty, when she can barely seem to stand the sight of him, for a conviction that isn't even in the same league as Brendan's.

"You're not even listening, are you?"

Ste's snapped out of his Brendan induced haze, his eyes turning away from him and Cheryl. Amy's glowering at him, and standing up now.

"Where are you going?"

"If you can't even be bothered to pay attention to what I'm saying -"

"I am, I swear!"

She looks at him accusingly. "You were too busy checking out some other woman, Ste." Her eyes trail to Cheryl.

He laughs, in disbelief that that's the conclusion she's jumped to. Wrong thing to do. Again.

"You know what, I really thought you might be sorry, but you're not are you? This is all some big joke to you."

"Amy, no!" He makes an attempt to grab her, to just make her stay with him, to give him that comfort that only she can provide. He sees an officer eye him suspiciously, sees that he thinks that Ste's going to hurt her, that he's capable of that, even though he hasn't thought about in years.

She shrugs out of his hold and walks away from him, disappearing behind the door before he has a chance to call after her, to convince her to come back.

It's enough to make him want to kick over the table and take out his frustrations, but he sees Brendan's eyes on him, and the smallest shake of his head, so subtle that he thinks he imagined it.

When he's accompanied back to his cell, he paces the floor in agitation, the conversation with Amy flooding his mind. He wants to phone her the minute she gets home, but he's afraid of making things worse and losing her for good.

"Fuck." He's tired of being stuck in this dark, cold, rotting cell. Tired of having to look over his shoulder to see whether Warren or Walker are there with their cruelty and possessiveness, and not quite knowing which is worse. The bruise from Brendan slamming him against the wall is still there, he can feel it when he leans against something, a constant reminder that even when he tries to help someone, all he gets is a smack in return.

He doesn't know how long he just spends standing in the middle of his cell before Brendan comes back. Ste barely acknowledges him, knows that mindless chatter and an attempt at politeness isn't going to help him now, not with this. He expects Brendan to ignore him and sit on his bed like he usually does, all but denying his existence. He surprises him.

"Meeting with the missus didn't go that well, then?" He all but grunts it, like he doesn't care either way, but Ste knows he wouldn't ask if he didn't want to know.

"She hates me." It hurts to say it.

Ste's anger is renewed when he hears Brendan laugh darkly. Ste moves towards him, not exactly knowing what his intention is, but pretty sure that it'll involve returning the favour of a bruise somewhere down the line.

"She doesn't hate you."

Ste stills at the words, at the sincerity behind them.

"She came, didn't she?" Brendan continues. "That means she gives a shit. She left because she's angry, Steven, angry that you've left her with the kids and no explanation to give them, that she's to blame for this somehow. You implying that didn't exactly help matters."

"You were listening?" His fury is diluted somewhat by the fact that _he_ was listening to Brendan's conversation.

"Can't exactly block my ears, can I?" He drawls.

"I suppose you think I'm a failure, don't you? That I let my family down?" Brendan's opinion shouldn't matter to him, not after what he's done, not because of why he's _here_, but somehow it does. It matters.

Brendan rolls his eyes. "You know what your problem is, Steven? You keep on thinking that the entire world has the same opinion of you as you have of yourself. You feel like you're nothing, and you think everyone else thinks the same."

Ste blushes, can't believe that he's getting a life lesson from this man. He can't believe that he's telling him the truth.

"This is a bit rich, isn't it? The guy who punched me giving me a lesson on confidence."

"I didn't punch you." He looks worried, scanning Ste's body like he's inspecting for the offense.

"You gave me a massive bruise! It may as well have been your fist."

"So fucking delicate, Steven..." But he continues to look concerned much to Ste's confusion, and holds a hand out, motioning for Ste to come towards him.

Ste looks at him like he's just been asked into the lions den.

"Come here. I'm not going to bite."

He takes a small step forwards, like it's his body drawing him there when his brain is screaming at him to do the opposite.

"Lift up your top."

"What?" Ste says, high pitched and shocked.

"So I can see the bruise. Turn around."

Ste considers refusing, not wanting Brendan to see his scrawny ribs, especially after Amy's told him he's lost weight. Brendan must look at him and see something tiny, minuscule compared to his own defined muscles and broad shoulders. He reluctantly turns and shows him the mark, glad that he can't see Brendan's expression, worried that he might see rejection there.

He feels hands on him then, the lightest touch of a fingertip. Ste flinches, not from any pain, but from the contact, the unexpectedness of it.

"Sorry about that," Brendan mumbles, and Ste doesn't know whether he's apologising for the touch or for hurting him to begin with. "I've got some cream, to rub into it. God knows I've used a lot of the stuff in here."

"You, get into fights? Never."

He can hear Brendan laughing from behind him, muttering something that sounds like _"cheeky bastard."_

"You can use some, if you like. It helps it to heal quicker."

"Thanks." Ste can't help but be touched by the gesture. Somehow it means so much more coming from someone like Brendan.

Brendan reaches into his drawer and hands Ste the cream. Ste sits on his bed and tries to rub it into himself, but his t-shirt becomes soaked in it, and he feels clumsy and idiotic, wondering whether Brendan's watching him making a mess of himself.

He reluctantly takes his t-shirt off. It's the first time he's ever been like this in front of Brendan, having been so careful since he's come here to stay covered up, to not give him or anyone else anymore reasons to make fun of him.

Ste prays that Brendan's so immersed in his book that he's not watching him. _Why would he even want to watch me? Get over yourself._

"This is the most awkward thing I've ever seen in my life."

Ste's heart sinks. "It's proper difficult, trying to rub it into my back! Like rubbing suncream in."

"I've forgotten what that's like. Not exactly done a lot of sunbathing in here."

It's hard to get used to, Brendan suddenly sharing all these facts about his life. Not unwanted, though. Ste soaks them all up like a starving man.

"Give it here, Steven. I can't watch this any longer."

Brendan takes the cream from him before he has a chance to protest. "Lie down, I'll rub it in."

"No it's alright, it's really not that bad."

"Stop being difficult, and do what I say."

"Alright, bossy!" Ste huffs, lying down on his front. He can't believe that this is happening, that Brendan's actually offering to touch him, that he's not repulsed. Anyone could look through the screen in the door and see.

At first Brendan's hands are cold on him, and Ste wriggles and squirms, unable to stop the laughter from escaping his mouth.

"Jesus. What is that thing?"

"What?" Ste asks self consciously, turning round to look at his body.

"That laugh. You sound like a fucking donkey."

"Oh." He's partly relieved, partly offended. "It's not my fault, is it? I can't help it."

"People in Australia are covering their ears." Ste can hear it in Brendan's voice though, the amusement. Fucking hell, he sounds almost _fond_. Fond of him.

They're both silent for a moment then, Ste struggling for things to say. It's hard to think of anything even close to interesting when another man's hands are on him, massaging his skin in soothing circles, no longer cold but so warm that when he withdraws them to get more cream, Ste makes an unsatisfied sigh, before trying to cover it up with a cough.

"Your boyfriend wouldn't like this."

Ste's eyes which were closed moments before drift open, blinking in confusion.

"My boyfriend?"

"Walker," Brendan says quietly.

Ste leans on his hands, the memory that he still has _that_ to deal with coming back to him.

"You know he's not that."

"What is he then?"

Ste knows that these questions are personal, intimate. But he doesn't want to tell Brendan to stop. He's scared that he'll take his hands away.

"He's...Walker."

Brendan laughs softly, his hands continuing to move in circles. The bruise doesn't hurt when he touches it anymore.

"That's not exactly answering the question, Steven."

Ste shrugs, a flicker of a smile on his mouth, growing stronger under the knowledge that Brendan can't see it.

"Why are you so interested?"

"He's an acquaintance of mine. You're my cellmate. I don't want to come in here and see you two _cuddling_." He spits out the word.

Ste snorts. "I don't think Walker's really the cuddling type, do you?"

He feels Brendan's hands still on him for a second, wonders if he's said the wrong thing, and arches back into the touch, encouraging him to keep going.

"Anyway, if you're so friendly with him then you must approve, right?" Ste doesn't even know why he's asking these things. It's not like he even has the slightest desire to go through with the contract.

"I never said I was friends with him. I don't have friends."

"Everyone needs somebody."

"I have my sister."

Ste wants to ask about Cheryl, to see what could make her so convinced that Brendan's innocent, when a jury found enough evidence to convict him. He can't risk pushing Brendan away though. Not now, not when they're like this.

"Yeah, but...well, you're not that bad, you know." Ste swallows, tripping over his words, not knowing what the hell he's saying.

Brendan's hands cease completely, and the loss of them is painful.

"You don't mean that."

The crazy thing is, he does.

"Yeah, I do. I...I like you better than Walker."

There's silence, and he wonders if he's well and truly scared Brendan off, if he's fucked everything up when they were just getting started.

"Turn around, Steven."

"I can't," he whispers. He actually _can't. _He has a...situation here, and he hadn't even realised, had been too swept up in the whole fucking thing.

"Look at me."

"No."

Ste feels shame and embarrassment coursing through him, thinks that this is it, he's going to get the shit kicked out of him, he can't turn around.

Brendan physically does it for him, bends forward and reaches out, picking him up around his stomach, hands against his bare skin, turning him until he's propped up, facing him.

Ste tries to look anywhere but at Brendan, heat flooding to his body, erection tenting his trousers, a hard on from a fucking massage.

He covers his hands over himself but it's futile, it's too late. He chances a glance at Brendan, searches for the disgust and hate in his face, but finds none. He's assessing Ste's reaction just as closely.

Ste's eyes fall to Brendan's trousers then, sees his dick straining against the material, recognises something like lust and want and need in Brendan's eyes for the first time, that's reflected like a mirror image in his own.


	5. Chapter 5

"I'm sorry."

He's not entirely sure why he says it, knows that Brendan can't blame him, not with the way he's looking at him, not when he's got a _situation_ all of his own. But doubts still swim in Ste's head, the possibility of Brendan accusing him of being some dirty fag, of hurting him properly this time. This isn't like with Callum, where he could at least escape from his company for a few hours. They _live_ together.

He's not imagining it, is he? The way Brendan's looking at him, the reaction that Ste's caused in him. Perhaps this is normal. Brendan is locked up here day after day. He doesn't seem like Walker, willing to take whatever he can get from the officers. Maybe he doesn't even realise what's happened. Maybe he'll be as embarrassed as Ste is.

Brendan looks at Ste's trousers then, directly at him. When he stares at his eyes again his lips are parted. _This definitely isn't normal. _

"Think I've missed it too much already, you know?" Ste laughs, and it sounds awkward to his ears, too loud and forced. "I mean it's been a while since I...I had Rae, didn't I? My girlfriend...and she ended things, and so I guess I'm just missing it..." He's rambling more than he ever has, even more than Brendan's used to, and Ste can see the older's mans eyebrows quirk up, like he's trying to decide between throttling him or banging his own head against the wall.

"You never mentioned a girlfriend."

"Haven't I?"

"No," Brendan says quietly.

It's hard to think of anything but Brendan's proximity right now. Ste tries to think of anything to stop the erection that he's covering with his hands. The peeling wallpaper of the cell. The fact that anyone could be looking in at them. The hardness of the bed.

_Oh fuck, the bed. _

"Sorry."

"Why do you keep on apologising?"

The reasoning was so clear to Ste, but suddenly now he's not sure. He just knows that the shame of it is making him sweat, is making it hard to talk sense of any kind. There's no hiding from this anymore. Somehow talking about it makes it more real than _doing_ it. A part of him could be disconnected when he went to clubs, when he fucked some meaningless guy in the toilets. He told himself that it was just something he did sometimes, that it was scratching an itch, that he still went home to Amy and the kids. You couldn't be gay and have a family, could you?

"Have you ever done this before?"

_This? What is this? What are we doing?_

"Have you?"

"I asked first."

"Well I'm asking you right back."

Brendan grits his teeth, looks to the ceiling,_ "_Jesus_" _muttered under his breath. "Do you ever just do what someone tells you? Fucking frustrating."

Ste smirks at him, intensely relieved that Brendan's irritation has dissolved some of the tension between them.

"I wouldn't exactly be in here if I did, would I?"

"Point." He leans back against the wall by Ste's bed, and Ste notices that his hard on has gone down. He wonders if he's pathetic for being disappointed. "Yeah, I've done this before."

Ste suddenly realises this is what all of Warren's digs were about. All those times he's asked him whether Brendan had beat him up yet, or...

Is this what everyone was waiting for? Is he the only one who didn't have a clue?

"But you were married..." Ste can't help but interject.

Brendan laughs gruffly. "Want to know how many years I was faithful during that marriage?"

Ste shifts in the bed, Brendan following his movements. He's used to sharing the bed with Amy, curled up together watching DVDs and sharing a tub of ice cream. He's not used to feeling so unsafe like this, unsafe because anything could happen, and he's not sure he's ready for that yet.

"How many guys have you gone out with then?" He thinks he might be pushing it, can see the discomfort on Brendan's face, guesses that he's not got a Pride flag hidden under his bedcovers. But he doesn't tell him to stop either.

"I've never _gone out _with anyone, Steven. That's not...that's not what I do."

Doesn't Brendan know that Ste's got to dress this up somehow? What is he meant to say - how many guys have you fucked?

"There were a few...lads," he continues, voice so low that Ste hardly dares to breathe in case he misses something.

"In here?" Ste feels strangely possessive of the fact, wonders if they're still in the building, waiting in the wings for midnight visits from Brendan. What if the reason why he's never heard Brendan having any nightmares since is because he's been going to other cells? Ste can just imagine the sway that he has in this place, can picture him threatening the guards to unlock the door, keeping them quiet by his violent promises of what he can do to them.

"Not anymore. There was one."

Brendan's tone is enough for Ste to probe him further. "Who was he?"

"Some boy."

Ste wonders if he was the same age as him. Wonders if Brendan has a type, and doesn't know whether he feels flattered that he might be it.

"Did he get released?"

"No. He was...he was killed."

Ste swallows, the reality of the situation once again hitting him with its full impact. He's in prison. These things happen, and he could be next.

He's surprised when Brendan doesn't stop talking, doesn't shut down on him.

"Vincent...Danny killed him..."

Ste doesn't think he imagines the way Brendan's eyes turn misty. He doesn't dare ask if he's crying, knows that if he does not even this undefined thing between them could save him.

"Danny?"

"He got moved to another prison. Somewhere more secure, last time I heard." Brendan's voice is harsher, and Ste can almost see him killing the vulnerability that was there, replacing it with something hard, cold.

"That's awful, I -"

"Yeah, well there's no use crying about the past, is there? Waste of time. It's done."

"But -"

"So, now that you've asked me." Brendan faces him, smile on his lips, eyes trailing down his body. "It's my turn."

Ste squirms uncomfortably, hates being under the spotlight like this. He feels woefully inexperienced and inadequate - at life, at sex, at love. He's surprised Brendan can't spot that a mile off.

"What do you want to know?" He hopes that Brendan's at least a bit more subtle than Walker, and doesn't demand to know if he's a novice.

"You ever slept with a guy, Steven?"

No such luck then.

"Er, well I..." He's blushing. Fuck. This shouldn't be so difficult, but God knows it is. The way Brendan's looking at him encourages him though, makes him feel hot all over, makes him believe for one second that he's desirable, that this could lead somewhere good.

"Yeah."

Brendan's face falls._ Is he actually disappointed that I'm not a virgin?_

"How many times?" He asks immediately.

"Brendan!" Ste kicks his leg with his foot.

"We're both adults here aren't we, Steven? It's not a fucking maths equation, it's a simple question."

"I...I don't really know. I can't remember," he admits, embarrassed.

Brendan looks away, eyes downcast. _Yeah. Definitely disappointed. _

"Which way do you do it, then?"

Ste almost asks him to repeat the question, feeling his eyes bulging in their sockets.

"I'm thinking...bottom." Brendan smiles, the bastard.

"What does that mean exactly?" Ste asks in a small voice.

"It means you take it, while I give it."

Jesus. Ste blinks rapidly, can feel sweat on the back of his neck, running down his t-shirt.

"I...I guess I am then, yeah." Gay studies was definitely not on his timetable at school.

He tries to ignore the way Brendan's all but licking his lips. Ste resolutely keeps his hands over his lap.

"What have you tried?"

Ste knows full well that he could tell him to stop, that this isn't a conversation they should ever be having. That one moment Ste was thinking about Amy never forgiving him, and now he's here, talking to a prisoner about the guys he's had sex with. What's even more worrying is that he has no intention of stopping. He's _enjoying_ it.

Ste opens and closes his mouth like a fish, not knowing how to reply. Most of his encounters have been frantic, desperate fumbles, not even lasting half an hour. The word foreplay has barely come into it.

Brendan senses his uncertainty. "Have you rimmed?"

"What's that?"

Brendan looks half exasperated, half amused. "Jesus boy, don't tell me you've never...has no one honestly ever?"

"Alright, you smug git! Just because I'm not an expert."

Brendan stares at him curiously. "Do you even know what it is?"

Ste doesn't want to admit that aside from Walker mentioning it once, he's never heard the term before.

"I'll show you." Like it's that simple, like they're actually going to do this. Oh God.

The questions don't stop there. Ste feels like he's answering some questionnaire at the doctors, only it's being conducted by a very hairy Irishman, who's staring at him with barely contained lust.

"You ever gone down..." Ste guesses that sentence doesn't end with _town_.

"Once." He remembers him being shoved on his knees by a particular over zealous guy. "And with Rae."

Brendan snorts. "It's a bit different, trust me boy."

Ste thinks about how big Brendan's dick had looked, tenting his trousers. How the hell is he meant to take that down his mouth?

"What have you done then?" Ste bites back.

"Everything."

He shivers at the smoothness of Brendan's voice. He can well believe it, and it's thrilling and intimidating all at once.

Brendan moves in the bed, so suddenly that Ste jumps, and he leans back on his pillow, still not ruling out a beating. Brendan's movements are slow, predatory, precise, and he plants his hands either side of Ste's head, his body above his own, essentially trapping him. He wants to kiss him right now, badly, and imagines the feel of Brendan's moustache brushing against his upper lip, the prickle and roughness of it.

Brendan doesn't even ask for his permission, must read it in his face, his expression begging him when his words don't.

He leans forward, and Ste knows that he has to stop it, but he can't resist that first taste, the initial movement of their lips together. He's so fucking curious as to how they'll fit, if it'll be as good as his imagination suggests.

The feel of Brendan's facial hair is strange at first, almost ticklish, and Ste smiles into the kiss. Brendan's lips are very, very warm, and they move with his tentatively at first, as if searching for something, as if they both can't quite believe they're doing this. Ste knows that it's only a matter of time though, that nothing about Brendan is _tentative_. He can feel his mouth opening up from Brendan's encouragement, can already envisage the hands in hair and tongues rubbing together.

"No. Stop."

Brendan draws back immediately, but Ste can see the effort it's taking, his eyes never leaving Ste's lips, his own shining from the contact of their mouths.

"I think we've done enough talking, don't you?" The sound of his voice is enough to make Ste want to tell his conscience to shut up, and grab Brendan and let him show him exactly what _rimming_ is.

"I don't think we should do this." It takes all of his willpower to say it, willpower he didn't even know he had.

Brendan looks angry, and it's enough to make Ste shuffle away from his body and sit up in bed, resolutely keeping his distance. It's the stark reminder that he needed, the reminder of who Brendan really is.

"I didn't know I was living with a hormonal girl."

"Oi, don't start that now just because I said no!"

Brendan opens his mouth in retaliation, but Ste can visibly see his temper dying down.

"Of course you can...of course you can say no. You have every right to..." He continues to mumble inaudibly. "Sorry."

It sounds alien to hear an apology from Brendan, more unnatural than his sarcasm and his coldness.

"It's okay," Ste sniffs. He can't believe that seconds ago they were kissing, and now a walls already gone up. He's the one who put it there, but he wishes Brendan could understand that he _has_ to, that walls are for protection.

"Why don't you want to?" Brendan asks quietly, unable to stop the distinct sound of vulnerability from creeping in.

"I do," he answers honestly. "I just think it's not a good idea. I mean we're in here..."

"You're lying." It comes out emotionless, and it's somehow more frightening than if Brendan was snarling it accusingly.

Ste feels defensive, looking round the cell to avoid Brendan's eyes on him. "I'm not even going to be here that much longer."

"That mouth of yours doesn't look so pretty right now, Steven." This is what Brendan does, he realises. He doesn't make threats like Warren to wound. He stabs away until there's nothing left.

"You're ashamed of me." Again, not an accusation.

"No." It ends up sounding a lot like yes.

"Think you're better than me, do you?" Brendan stands up, creating even more distance between them, pacing the cell, his voice echoing around the room. "Think that because you're in here for shoplifting then you're some kind of respectable criminal?" He laughs. "Trust me, you're not."

"Well at least I'm not a killer."

Brendan laughs, on and on until Ste wants to scream at him to stop. He starts clapping, and Ste hates it, how he can desire someone so much one minute, and be utterly terrified of them the next.

"The boy speaks the truth at last!" He says it like he's speaking to an imaginary audience.

"Brendan, I didn't mean that -"

"Yes you did." He towers over Ste, and he feels incredibly small in comparison to Brendan's domineering size. "You don't want to fuck a murderer."

"Can you blame me? Look I never thought...I never thought this would happen, okay? That I'd come here and meet you."

"Don't make out that this is some kind of love story, Steven. You're just...convenient."

Ste gets to his feet and pushes Brendan forcefully, finally channeling some of his anger at Amy leaving, at him screwing everything up, at being stuck in here with a psychopath as a cellmate, and not knowing whether to kiss him or to kill him.

Brendan staggers back, staring at Ste in shock rather than pain. Ste's breathing fast, deep shallow breaths, adrenaline coursing through him, enough to make him want to dig himself out of this place, the strength of his hands alone making him powerful enough to find an escape route.

"_Convenient_? Is that all this is then? You're just doing this because I'm here with you, because you don't have any better options?"

"You're the one who's saying no to this." He's recovered from the push now, and he's circling Ste in the cell like a shark, Ste moving away from him with every step closer.

"Fine, you want the truth?" He's in wounded mode, still reeling from Brendan's words. It's dangerous being like this, like he has no ownership of his own mouth, insults spilling out of him now, designed to hurt as much as possible. With Amy he's learnt to keep them in check, to master some form of control. She calms him somehow, but with Brendan everything is heightened, some weird energy between them that he can't run from.

"Yes, I don't want to...be with a murderer. I can't be with someone who's done what you have."

Brendan stops circling, and the words seem to have physically winded him, punched a hole through him so that when he takes a breath, it looks like he's gasping.

"How much do you know?"

"Enough. That you killed your dad."

"Steven -" He reaches out, and Ste flinches back from the touch, knows that if he lets Brendan put his hands on him then that's it. He won't be able to resist twice.

The sound of the doors being unlocked is the most welcome sound he's ever heard. It's one of the bastard guards, and his face only twists even more when Ste smiles at him with intense gratitude.

"Dinner," he grunts, and Ste avoids Brendan's gaze as he leaves the cell, doesn't want to see anything there which will make him change his mind. Right now he needs to concentrate on Brendan's crime, his sentence, the fact that a jury have deemed him dangerous enough to be locked up here forever. He doesn't want to see the human underneath.

* * *

Ste makes his way over to his usual table, and is surprised to see only Ethan and Warren there. Whenever they are in public Doug always makes sure that he's with Ethan, as some form of protection against Warren. Ste knows that when they're behind closed doors no one can save him, has seen the bruises that cover Ethan's arms when he still thinks he can fight back.

Warren has an arm slung around Ethan, Ethan looking sick with nerves and disgust when Warren's eyes aren't on him. He greets Ste with a genuine joy he's never shown before.

"Sit down, please!"

"Where's Doug?"

"Aw, looking for your boyfriend are you rat boy?" Warren puts a chip into his mouth, deliberately chewing it slowly, surveying Ste with dark eyes.

"Something like that, yeah." He's learnt that arguing back with Warren is pointless, that it'll only lead to more aggression, like it's an endless maze that he'll never find his way out of.

"He had English class I think." Ethan stares around the dining room, like if he just searches hard enough, he can magically conjure Doug up.

"Right, well I'm going to go and find him." He tries to apologise to Ethan with his eyes, wishes that his presence alone could make a difference, but it can't. If anything Warren relishes it like they're putting on a performance for him, draping his body over his, showing the world that Ethan belongs to him.

As he makes his way over to the classroom, his stomach churns as he thinks about what will happen that night, when he and Brendan are alone in the darkness for hours. What if Brendan's just like Warren, and he'll force through, even if Ste tells him no? How does he know that they're not all the same, and that Brendan doesn't just view him as some kind of pet? Maybe he should feel grateful that Walker at least offered him a contract, a way out.

But Brendan _had_ stopped, hadn't he? Straight away, like he'd had an electric shock to his system, even if he hadn't wanted to. Even if he'd ridiculed and teased Ste about it, even if he'd been furious, he'd still stopped.

When Ste reaches the classroom, he thinks he's too late, that Doug must have already left. It's already fifteen minutes after the lesson, although Ste can well imagine Doug as someone who would stay behind, eyes big and bright and hopeful like a puppy's, his tail all but wagging, falling over his words to Lynsey.

He doesn't look through the screen door, just walks right in expecting to find nothing but an empty room.

It lasts less than a second, lips crushed together, hands in hair, bodies leaning against the desk, but it's enough.

They spring apart when they see him, so terrified that Ste can almost hear their hearts hammering. He can just imagine what his own face looks like, like something out of one of those cartoons, his mouth as wide open as a fly trap.

He wonders if that's what he and Brendan would have been like if he hadn't stopped him, and feels an irrational pang of jealousy.

"Ste!" They say it at the same time, in sync, everything in sync, from their positions to their unruly hair to their startled expressions. Ste feels like he's just intruded on something intimate, and it's enough to make him want to step outside the room and un see what he saw.

"Sorry, I was just coming to find you..."

Lynsey brushes herself down, and any anger Ste felt about being moved classes has been replaced by intense embarrassment for her. He doesn't know what to do with his eyes, doesn't want to look at them and make this even more uncomfortable, but he can't _not_ look.

"I know this must be confusing for you, but..." She begins.

"Let me deal with this, Lyns." Like Ste's their _child_.

Lynsey leaves the classroom, and Ste feels her raw humiliation, can practically hear her thoughts, _I'm going to lose my job, someone knows._

When the door closes it's as though Doug springs into action, losing the hesitancy, shutting the door firmly and all but dragging Ste to the corner of the classroom out of sight.

"You can't tell anyone about this."

Ste feels offended that he'd even think that. "I'm not going to."

"I mean it, if anyone finds out -"

"Relax Doug! I'm not going to tell anyone. How long has this been going on for anyway?"

"Not that long." _He's not giving me the specifics because he doesn't trust me. _Ste tries to stop that from hurting, realistically knows that he's not here to make friends, he's serving his sentence and that's it, back to reality, back to trailing the streets, knocking on doors and begging for someone to hire him. Only this time he'll have the added pressure of Amy picking on his every word, trying to catch him out and see whether he's going to let her down again.

"I thought you just fancied her, I didn't know you were sleeping with her!" Ste nudges him with his elbow, trying to get some semblance of normality back between them.

"We're not -"

"Oh come on Doug, are you expecting me to believe you weren't planning on jumping on her if I hadn't interrupted?"

Doug fidgets sheepishly, his bed hair still in place, and Ste has to resist the urge to smooth it down and make him look more respectable. He can't walk out of the classroom like this, not when he's got _I was just about to be shagged _written all over him, his cheeks pink, his t-shirt creased.

"I've got to admit, I didn't think prison was going to be like some kind of dating show," he says wryly. "At least it makes me feel better. I don't have to feel so guilty anymore."

"What do you mean?"

He has to tell someone, has to share this thing that's only growing stronger inside of him. There's no one else he can speak to about this, and the longer he keeps it to himself, the more he wants to scream.

"There's sort of a thing...between me and Brendan."

"Fucking hell, Ste!"

It's the first time he's ever heard Doug properly angry. When he'd imagined it in his mind he'd seen something akin to a kitten trying to growl, but the intensity of it disarms him, the unnaturalness. Even now someone shouting still connects with something inside of him, something small and childlike. It repulses him, that he can still feel that kind of fear.

"Please don't tell me somethings happened."

"No - we haven't done anything." He can feel his face saying otherwise.

"You haven't slept together, have you?" Doug looks disgusted, horrified.

"Of course not!" _Yet._

"I don't believe you."

Ste sighs, can't believe he's having to justify himself after what he's just seen. "We've just kissed, that's all."

"Ste!"

"It only lasted a second!"

"You don't get bonus points for time, you know. You still kissed him."

Ste drums his fingers on the desk, feels like he could happily slice his knuckles open and punch Doug for good measure. Everything he's learnt in anger management becomes meaningless during times like these. It takes all that he has to hold himself together.

"I didn't even know you're gay."

"I'm not!" It comes out wrong, too defensive to not mean something, but he's tired of these labels, just wants to be what he is, feel what he feels.

"Brady didn't force you to do anything, did he?"

"No." How can he explain that it almost felt the other way round, that ever since he met Brendan, no matter how scared he's been about the idea of him, the things he's heard, he's wanted to be around him. That the idea of being nothing but a passing fancy to him fills Ste with dread, that it twists at his stomach like a knife.

"Then how can you even think of liking someone like that?"

The rational part of Ste that knows that Doug's just looking out for him is replaced by the desire to tell him to butt the fuck out, that he's the only one who gets to make decisions about his life.

"He's different to what everyone thinks."

Doug scoffs, actually scoffs like he's dealing with a unintelligent child. "No offense Ste, but I've been here a bit longer than you. You haven't even known Brendan for two weeks -"

"Well _no offense_ Doug, but you're a hypocrite."

That shuts him up, if only momentarily.

"You can't stand here and talk to me about liking someone who's all wrong for me! Not when I've just caught you snogging your teacher."

"That's a bit different -"

"She could lose her job because of you."

"Well...yeah...but..." He stumbles, hasn't thought a single fucking bit of this through, and Ste laps up that uncertainty, uses it to numb his own shame.

"What's the plan, eh? Continue to sleep with her to pass your GCSEs? Classy." He tries to ignore the way it comes out as _classehhh_ with his accent, hates how he can't ignore his upbringing for a second, even when he's trying to prove he's right.

"I'm not like that, and neither is she. She's a good person, she didn't even want to get involved in this. Do you really think she'd be doing this if it was some stupid fling? We've planned this, Ste."

"Okay, lets hear this genius plan." He crosses his arms and stares at him expectantly, knows he's being sassy as fuck, but it's like it's his default setting, part of his nature which he can't contain, his armour against the world.

"When I get released we're going to be together."

"Right..." Skepticism rolls off his tongue. "So you're just going to set up a home together, are you? Get married, have kids, tell them all about how mummy and daddy met in prison? Real romantic, that. Send me an invite to the wedding."

"How can I? You'll probably still be in here after you reoffend."

Fuck.

Ste laughs, high pitched and bitter, has to remind himself _I'm not that guy anymore, I've changed_ to stop himself from doing what he desires the most.

"Ste, I didn't mean that."

"You did." Doug doesn't deny it, not a second time. "But you know what, don't try and blame me for having feelings for someone when you're no better than I am."

"You have feelings for him?" Ste can hear the judgement there, even when Doug's trying to tone it down.

"Maybe. I don't exactly know why," he admits. "I can't explain it, it's just...it's there."

"I know you don't want to hear it, but -"

"Don't."

"Ste, he killed his own father. At least I'm getting out of here, at least me and Lynsey have a future. What are you going to do, visit Brendan when he's old and grey?"

He doesn't know _what_ he'll do, has barely thought ahead more than a few days. He knows it's impossible, that he can't have a relationship with a lifer. Brendan has made it perfectly clear that it's the last thing he wants, so where does that leave him?

"There's no way that...that he might not be bad, right?"

Doug stares at him full of pity, and somehow it's worse than the anger.

"I know I told you that you didn't want to know the details, but..."

"Don't." His voice cracks. He's not even close to ready to hear this.

"He bashed his skull in with a hammer, Ste."

He blanches, feels instantly sick, wants to be rid of the images that are now forming in his brain. Brendan a cold blooded, mindless killer, devoid of emotion or empathy. The same hands that had touched him, that had rubbed into his skin delicately like he was something precious, capable of ending someone's life.

"Imagine what it must take, to hurt someone like that until they stop breathing. Imagine the blood."

"Fucking hell Doug, why are you doing this? I don't want to know!"

"This is the guy you have _feelings_ for. Someone who left their own dad in a pool of blood, who wasn't even going to tell anyone before he was caught. He's a psycho."

He's not saying anything worse than what Ste's been thinking. Except somewhere along the way he stopped thinking it, and he can no longer make the words _psycho_ and _Brendan_ correlate in his mind. All he can see is the guy who quotes Shakespeare, who demands he makes buttercream icing, who laughs at his own jokes even when nobody else does. Who doesn't just talk for the sake of it, but says something when it matters. Every glimpse of his life that he's shared with Ste - Cheryl, his kids, his marriage, what he was like when he was younger - its meant something.

He wants to tell Doug that a part of him, the part which terrifies him with its ugliness and depravity, wants Brendan in spite of all this. Fuck, maybe even because of it. He knows that kind of darkness, has tasted it, if not murder then the knowledge of what it's like to want someone dead, not just an idle thought but more of a craving, gnawing away at him everyday, only muted when he never had to see Terry again, but never completely silenced.

"I have to get out of here."

"Don't go back to him."

"I'm not..." He's dazed, doesn't know where his footsteps are taking him. "I'm just going back."

But as he leaves Doug in the classroom, he already can feel it, like the path is winding to Brendan, and he's helpless but to be led anywhere but there.

Every face he meets along the way isn't Brendan's. He scans the crowd, looks into the dining room, but he's no longer hungry, doesn't even consider stepping inside. He sees Walker sitting at his usual seat. He could walk over to him and tell him that he's in, he'll be his, because he's starting to realise that whatever it is he feels for men, it's not going to go away. He could get fucked and fuck over Brendan in one clean sweep. It's never been that easy though, not for him. As much as he tries to kill it, it's always there, his heart overruling everything, and he hates that he's this weak.

It's like Brendan's physically pulling him towards him. Knowing the bastard he is, it's like he's got inside Ste's head and messed with everything that was sane, everything that was normal, reprogrammed him somehow so that he's altered forever. Of all his mistakes, and there's been plenty, this is by far his most stupid.

Ste finds Brendan in his cell looking like he hasn't moved an inch since he left him, has barely even breathed. It's not like Brendan to miss out on a meal, the way he devours everything and still has room for more. When Ste comes in he looks surprised to see him, like he'd made his peace with being permanently alone now. Ste resists the urge to say _"I'm not going anywhere"_, that this is the closest thing to a home that he has in this place, and he'll be damned if he loses that.

The only thing that's different is music coming from the battered old CD player that Brendan had brought into the place, transferred from his old cell. Ste's never heard the song before, his own taste consisting of pop music that he can dance to even when drunk. _Especially_ when drunk, although the occasions are few and far between with Leah and Lucas now.

The voice filling his senses is gravelly, the music in the background reminding him of country twang. He suddenly gets an image of Brendan in a barn dance, and shakes his head, knowing he'll be the one laughing at his own jokes if he keeps this up.

"Brendan, I -"

"Shhhhh." He hisses it, placing a finger over his own lips, eyes closed.

_I keep a close watch on this heart of mine_

_I keep my eyes wide open all the time_

_I keep the ends out for the tie that binds_

_Because you're mine, I walk the line_

"What's this?"

Brendan looks mildly insulted. "It's Johnny Cash." He says it like Ste should _know_.

"I'm more of a Cheryl Cole man myself, aren't I?" He laughs until Brendan's expression makes him stop, but not before he's done a little dance to demonstrate. _Oh God._

"Can you switch this off a second?"

"Why?"

"I want to talk to you, don't I?"

"Anything you want to say to me, you can say in front of the man in black."

Ste knows that this is what Brendan does, that he wasn't going to welcome him back with open arms, not after what he said. But he can feel him already shutting down on him, like he's resisting the urge to turn up the music louder and drown him out.

"Brendan I'm sorry. About what I said before."

He thinks he's going to be ignored, but after a moment Brendan switches off the music to face him, and fuck, Ste's never seen anything more gorgeous, even in this angry state, even when his eyes are all but telling Ste that he's not worth listening to. He's all solid muscle and hairy flesh, and it's almost too much. Ste doesn't know where he'd even begin, where his lips and hands would touch first.

"You didn't say anything wrong, Steven."

It's not what Ste was expecting, and it ruins his whole speech. Now he's got nothing, and can only stand back and listen to Brendan, trying to work out where to go next.

"Who would want to be with someone like me? I'm a freak." He doesn't even try to disguise his hatred, like his words are some form of self harm, and Ste wants to tell him to _stop_, he can't take Brendan saying these things, feels so fucking protective and he doesn't have a clue why.

"But...I mean you didn't do anything, did you? Maybe you didn't kill your dad." He's holding onto everything now, holding onto lies and half truths, doesn't even know what's real anymore, but he can't let Brendan be guilty.

"I did it, Steven. I killed him."

_No_. It's not supposed to be like this. Brendan's meant to be like all the others, Warren grinning cockily at the officers, "_I didn't do it, do you think I'd be sick enough __to hurt my own fiancée__?"_, Walker maintaining that he's blameless, _"I was merely acting in defense of my brother, I protected him"_, even Ethan the fucking cop, _"It wasn't like I meant to run anyone over, I didn't do it deliberately."_ Ste's heard every excuse under the sun, resists rolling his eyes at them, the way they all sound like a pupil telling the teacher that the dog ate their homework.

He'd give anything right now for Brendan to lie to him.

"You think I'm a monster, don't you?"

He doesn't know what he thinks.

"Do you really want to hate me, Steven? Shall I make you?" He comes up close, eyes locked with his, toes practically together, and Ste can't look away, not even if he wanted to.

"I killed him, hit him with a hammer until there was nothing but blood and bone, until I smashed his skull apart. Want to know why I did it? Because he raped me. There. You can hate me now."


	6. Chapter 6

_When Brendan was eleven years old, he began spending a lot of time at his friend Pete's house. He'd met Pete through school, and they struck up an easy kind of friendship based on a shared enjoyment of generally terrorising their teachers and playing practical jokes in class. Brendan was drawn to Pete's wide, open smile, his warm house where his mum always seemed to be cooking something wonderful, the smells from the oven hitting Brendan the minute he walked through the door. He felt safe there. It was a respite for a few precious hours, and he could almost forget what was going on in his head. The pressure on his shoulders suddenly felt manageable, as though Pete was helping with the load._

_Pete had an uncle, Luke. During the summer of Brendan's first year at secondary school, Luke moved into Pete's house after he had divorced from his wife. He would crash on the couch, constantly exhausted while Brendan and Pete would watch television beside him. He would mind the two boys when Pete's parents were out of the house, helping them make their lunches and taking them for walks in town. _

_Pete told Brendan that he'd overheard his mum and dad saying how Luke was "depressed", that sometimes at night he could hear him cry. Brendan vaguely remembered that, crying. He could still picture what it felt like to have the sensation of tears stinging his eyes, and falling down his cheeks. But it felt like a distant memory, something he could no longer get in contact with. He hadn't cried in three years._

_Brendan thought that the sadness in Luke ought to scare him. He'd never seen a man behaving in that way before, eyes rimmed with red, holding the hands of his sister in the kitchen and talking to her about missing a woman. It was an alien concept to Brendan that a man should show affection and emotion so easily. It confused him, and he wondered if he should hate Luke, and wondered why he didn't._

_No matter how despondent Luke was feeling, he would always welcome Brendan into the house, almost like he was his nephew alongside Pete. He would smile for Brendan's benefit, ruffle his hair and ask him about school. When Brendan would struggle over homework he'd pull up a chair and sit down beside him, however many hours it would take. _

_When Brendan was called home early one day by Seamus, it was one of the rare times that he couldn't hide his discomfort. Before he left the house he excused himself to go to the bathroom, and threw up the lunch that Luke had carefully prepared for him. He felt sweaty and clammy, and rested his head against the coldness of the bath. He hoped he'd been quiet enough for no one to hear him retching, and when he was ready he went downstairs again, trying to hide what he'd been hiding his whole life. _

_Luke wiped the perspiration from Brendan's brow, and hugged him before Brendan could stop him. He struggled in his hold, because he didn't hug anyone but Cheryl, and that was as much for her benefit as it was for his. He heard Luke murmur something very softly. "It'll be okay, you'll be back here soon." And then he let him go._

_During the last day of summer, Brendan came over to Pete's house. They no longer called each other up - they didn't need invitations, and Pete's parents would open the door as though Brendan were a family pet, as though his absence was more unusual than his presence. _

_Pete was out though, had gone to the swimming pool with his dad, and it was only Luke there. These days he was no longer sprawled on the sofa, instead presenting as smart and formal in his suit which he'd been wearing to job interviews, going to one almost every day. When he saw Brendan he beamed, and told him that he could wait, that Pete wouldn't be long._

_Brendan had been careless that afternoon. In Pete's house he became lax, and he'd taken off his jumper without thinking. It made him furious because he always, always remembered. He tried to rectify his mistake immediately, but it was already too late, and Luke rushed over to him, holding his arm in concern and asking him where the bruises had come from. He tried to shrug him off but Luke was bigger and stronger than him, and he felt helpless against him, like the walls were closing in. He knew that he had to be very, very careful about this, that he had to think about what he said and not slip up. He was a master at thinking up stories, and the extent of his deception made him proud._

_He told Luke how he'd had an accident at the playground, that he'd had a nasty fall and bruised his arms. He listened to his voice, at the calmness of it. It sounded dead, and it delighted him, and it scared him._

_He felt very little panic, because he knew that Luke would leave him alone and let him carry on waiting for Pete. Perhaps they'd talk about one of the jobs Luke had applied for, and he'd tell him something funny that one of his interviewers had done. _

_Except he didn't leave him alone._

"_How did you get hurt, Bren?"_

"_I fell over in the playground." He was having to repeat himself, and he didn't like it. _

"_You don't get bruises like this from falling over."_

_Brendan didn't know what to say to that. He didn't understand why he was being questioned. Why did Luke care?_

_Luke drew him into his arms then, and they sat together on the couch while he was being held. Luke was close to him, and Brendan could smell his aftershave, and the heat from his body. He was wearing a suit like one of the one's his father wore. He was touching Brendan's body with his hands, holding him around the middle firmly. _

_Brendan disentangled himself enough from Luke's hold to start undoing the older man's belt. His hands then started on his fly, his grip solid, because he didn't shake, he never did._

_But someone was shouting at him now, pushing him away and standing in front of him, their frame bigger, stronger, and none of this made sense. This is what his dad did. He brought Brendan's hands to his crotch, forcing him to undo his trousers until Brendan wasn't sure whether it was his idea or Seamus's. _

"_What the hell are you doing, Brendan?" He'd never heard Luke angry before, and he looked wild now, hastily doing up his trousers and staring at Brendan like he'd done something wrong._

_Brendan didn't say anything, because it was no longer safe here for him, and anything he said would feel like a trap. His throat felt dry and he didn't know where he wanted to be, imagined what it would be like to want to go home. He couldn't explain to Luke that he had hoped this was what everyone did, because he thought then that it would be normal, that maybe he'd be normal. He'd wanted to ask Pete about it when he met him, wanted to ask if his dad hurt him and put things in his mouth that he didn't want, and did things to his body that he hadn't asked for, and that had made him bleed for a long time._

_He sensed early on that there was something different about Pete's relationship with his dad. Pete wasn't afraid of touching him or of being touched, and would actively seek it out like it was his right. He would smile goofily up at his dad like he was his hero, and Brendan didn't know how to put something like that into words, couldn't ask him if his dad came into his room at night and pinned him to the bed. So he never asked._

_Luke kept on asking him what he was doing, Brendan could hear him muttering "You're eleven years old, Jesus." All he could think of was whether that was meant to mean something. If his age was important. He felt like he was watching a child come apart at the seams, Luke pacing the room and fidgeting, nervous, and he was watching him, composed, had already floated away from his body, like he was looking in on this from the ceiling._

_The only thing that reached him was when Luke said "I have to tell someone about this." Because he knew that whatever this thing was, it wasn't something you told. It was to be locked away, to be kept in a dark place, because that's what it was. Dark, dirty. _

_But there was a tiny sliver of light, and Brendan felt it like it was hitting him square in the chest. Luke wanted to tell someone, and something could change. Even when he wrangled out of Luke's hold, excusing himself to go home, ignoring the adult's protestations, he had enough energy to run, and the energy was something like hope._

_Seamus was drunk enough that night to not come into Brendan's bed, but he was being kept awake for a whole other reason, the first glimmer of excitement growing inside him. He imagined the teachers who had told him off for being late, calling him insolent, a word that he didn't understand and had never been explained to him. He pictured them apologising, and making it so that when he went home that day, he'd only have Cheryl and her mum, and they'd have made the bed with fresh sheets. He'd have a lock on his door, but he wouldn't really need it, because there would be nothing to keep out anymore._

_The next day he found out that Luke had left, that he'd moved away after he'd got a job offer, and they didn't know if they'd ever see him again. When Brendan went into school his teachers gave him detention for not doing his homework, and when he went home that night it was just him and Seamus, and there was no lock._

"I don't hate you."

It veers so far off the script that Brendan hears the boy for the first time, lets his words sink in, just hot air before. Everything is falling apart, dangerously, dangerously apart, and he can't hold it all together like he always does, like he no longer has the implements to stitch it all up again, heal the wound, good as new.

Brendan has never told anyone before, thought it would feel like freedom but it feels like punishment, like he's just shared the burden of his life with someone else, and now it's their burden too. It wouldn't mean anything to a stranger in an alleyway, would earn him a pitying glance but nothing more. But with Steven it fucking matters, he's not running away and he's not silencing him, and he looks at him with more concern than he deserves.

He doesn't know why he said it, has never planned on spilling his guts out to anyone, least of all a person he's planning on fucking, but he'd seen the judgement in Steven's eyes, known that he thought him a psychopath, capable of killing his own father, and for what - family rivalry? An argument gone awry? Just because he was that sick?

He's kept this inside his whole life, and he's surprised it hasn't already killed him, that the knowledge of it alone hasn't carved a path through his heart and gutted it whole. For a fleeting moment he wonders if he can take it back, if he can laugh it off and say he was just messing around, make Steven think that he's that twisted as well as violent. But you can't take something like that back, can you? Once it's spoken it's there forever. He's just dug a hole a mile wide and it's up to him to dig himself out of it, inch by precarious inch.

"I could change that, if I wanted to." It's what he does, makes people see the ugliness in him, breaks that belief that there's something good there, until there's nothing left.

"I dare you." Steven's voice falters, but there's a strength there, a determination.

Brendan looks at him for the first time since he told him, and fucking hell, the boy looks like he's aged about ten years in the space of ten minutes. Still gorgeous though, still ripe and delectable, enough to take a man's mind off his entire life for the past thirty two years.

"You want me to break your heart, Steven?" His voice is playful, teasing, but the question isn't.

"Do you do that a lot?"

He's not proud of it, not proud of the way he tossed Vincent aside in the days before he died, left him so vulnerable that he'd sought comfort in a guy like Danny. He'd seen Vincent's cell before the officers had managed to cover it up, before they'd made it into an official crime scene. Blood had spattered the walls, and Brendan had wondered if the boy had even struggled, or if he'd simply given up. _"I'm nothing if I'm not with you, Brendan." _The kid had been young, impressionable, had believed that love could save him, that when it was taken away he was no more than a carcass, resenting every expansion of his lungs that allowed him to carry on breathing.

The courts had charged Danny with the boy's death, but Brendan knew he had all but put a noose around his neck.

"Yes."

"Me too," Steven says softly.

It wasn't what Brendan was expecting to hear, can barely imagine a person like Steven saying boo to a goose. He's seen the temper in the boy, seen how his skin goes red, replacing the golden tone to it that makes him look like he's been basking in sunshine his entire life. But there is a strange kind of gentleness there. He's seen the boy consciously trying to calm himself down, seen as he's drained of anger like he's ruling it completely, saying _fuck you, I call the shots here. _

"Let me guess. You were seven, and you told a girl you wouldn't save a swing for her?"

Steven laughs, rolls those blue eyes of his, but Brendan can tell his heart's not in it. This is exactly what he'd feared would happen if he told someone, that they'd go soft on him, that they'd feel the need to protect him.

"I've done some things I'm not proud of. I've hurt the people I love."

What is this, tit for tat? Brendan tells him something, he tries to even the score?

"I...I beat Amy up. The mother of my kids."

Brendan doesn't know what to do with that, has never laid a hand on a woman in his life. Even when Eileen found him in bed with Macca he didn't touch her, knew that he could control her with his fists, and God he wanted to, but that's not what he did.

Brendan feels disgusted with Steven, but it's not enough to make him not want him. Not nearly enough.

"She forgave you?" He'd seen them at visiting hours. She'd been a pretty girl, face delicate and pale, small body that made the fact that she was a mother at her age seem even more ridiculous. He'd heard them arguing, had barely even been able to concentrate on what Cheryl was saying to him, eyes so drawn to the boy, to the way he bit his lip like he was trying to provoke. He'd been curious, wanted to know what their relationship was like, if there was still anything there. Anyone could spot a mile off that she'd been frosty as hell with him, voice colder than ice, but there was still something that was relaxed about them. You could tell that they'd been doing this for years, fighting and talking and hugging and kissing and loving each other no matter what the betrayal.

"Yeah. I went to get help...anger management."

_Anger management_. Brendan laughs inwardly, fucking anger management, like he can go to a class, read a couple of leaflets and be fixed. You can't rewire something that's broken. You may as well smash something to pieces, watch as it falls and revel in the chaos that you've created.

"Did you ever...did you ever tell someone, Brendan?"

"No." Brendan say it as if it's obvious, because it is. He doesn't tell anyone these things, because no one cares enough to save him, and he'd stopped wanting to be superman when he was a kid, or of hoping that anyone else could be.

"Why me then?"

It's not that Brendan trusts him. He barely even knows the boy, is well aware that there's an expiratory date on this, and he'll be walking through those gates in a few months time. Brendan will die here, knows that if he does ever get out then the world will have changed, will have turned into a place he barely recognises. It's hard to imagine a time when he won't be woken up by the officers banging on his door, when he won't have to constantly be on his guard and exploit the terror that he produces in people.

"I have no idea." It's honest, as close to the truth as he can get. Perhaps he's just got sick of carrying this around with him, day after day, year after year. It's like an infection that never leaves him, something that's buried itself deep into his skin, and it's unrelenting, never letting him forget what happened. He is so, so tired.

"You can talk to me -"

Brendan silences him, moves towards him and pushes him onto the bed, gets on top of him, straddling Steven's knees and kissing him with everything he has, all the energy he has left. He wants it rough, wants to fuck him so hard that his screams can be heard by the whole prison, echoing round the walls, cries of pleasure so acute that they ring in Brendan's ears days afterwards.

Steven responds at first, moulding against his body, so receptive like he's offering Brendan every part of him.

Brendan's balls are aching, and he murmurs words against Steven's throat as he kisses him, can't fucking stop himself. "Going to sit your pretty little arse on my face and let you ride me, make you come, yeah?"

He wants more than that though, far, far more, wants to fuck the boy with the harshest intensity, wants to hoist Steven's legs around his waist and back them both against the wall, encourage the boy to stroke his cock and then get inside him with one clean push. It's where he gets his escape, loses himself in another man's heat, feels himself come apart in the security that a warm body can bring. All he concentrates on is the sensation of milking his cock, and his head can clear, can resemble something that is as close to normality as he can get.

Brendan pulls down Steven's trousers, can see the outline of his cock in his underwear, not hard yet, but he'll suck him till it's rock solid, till he can taste the salty pre cum and have the boy shooting down his throat, seeing stars.

He grasps at it through the fabric, gives it a few teasing strokes, observing as Steven's breathing hitches, his head rolling back, exposing that smooth and slender neck that's just begging to be grazed by Brendan's teeth. There's no rush though, not now he's got the boy where he wants him, not with the night stretching before them, and months of nights after that. He's going to become on first name terms with every part of Steven's anatomy, plans on making a mark of ownership on every inch of his skin.

Brendan dips his head, wants to give Steven a few slow licks of his cock through his boxers, but the boy pushes his head away. Brendan grunts, thinks he's playing _that_ game, trying to make him want him more than he already does, as if that's even possible.

He's nothing if not determined though, wants to pin Steven's arms onto the bed and reduce all the other men before him into a pile of dust and ashes, nothing more than faceless and nameless strangers, make it so all that Steven can see is him.

He hears a croaky "no" for the second time that day, the word that possibly effects him more than anything on this earth, and he can't fight it, can't refuse it for one second, stops immediately like he's frozen.

Steven looks upset, and _how did he not see that before? _He's scrabbling up in the bed, looks close to tears, composing himself and doing up his trousers. Brendan feels frustrated, doesn't know what he's done to upset the kid, thought he wanted this just as much as he does, to be touched and sucked and licked and stroked, to just forget about the world for a while.

"That's not what I...I didn't come back here for this."

Brendan can't comprehend what he did come back here for. Was it to talk, to have some heart to heart like they're friends? The mere notion is ridiculous, impossible. Brendan had seen Steven's face when he'd touched him in bed, seen the reaction it had caused. The boy must have been wise enough to know exactly what Brendan had in mind, that it was never going to be a fucking _massage_.

"Brendan, you just told me -"

He puts his finger over Steven's lips, applies it with more pressure than necessary, but Steven's pushing it, pushing him, asking questions that no one's ever asked him, no one's ever cared to know.

"Thinking about your boyfriend Walker, are you? Feel guilty?" He doesn't mean to say it, it just slips out of him, jealousy like an angry, irrational, unwanted enemy that hasn't visited in a while.

Steven looks confused, looks even more perfect and fragile with his brows creased together, lip jutting out.

"This isn't anything to do with him."

Brendan's seen Walker sniffing around him, knew from the first day that he met Steven that Walker would be after him, would look at him like some prize that could be won, wouldn't stop until he had him in his bed.

He'd come to Brendan in the dining room, leaned in close, intimate "He looks pliable don't you think, Brady? Like I could bend him in two and he'd still have room for more."

Brendan had tried to smile at him, turn it into some kind of joke, but his mouth wouldn't let him, like it physically found it impossible. Steven talked back far too often, wore his heart on his sleeve far too easily, kicked off over the smallest thing, trusted Douglas like he'd known him his entire life, had kids when he was still a kid himself, but God, he was fucking beautiful. And Brendan couldn't bear for all that childlike innocence and joy that Steven still managed to possess in a hell hole like this to be snapped under Walker's grip.

"Why don't you just go to him, eh? He's good in bed, don't worry about that. I should know."

He's turning ugly now, uglier than he already is, letting this beast that's inside him come out and play. He can see it in Steven's eyes, like they're being widened by the true nature of him, seeing all that he is and not liking one single drop. It's comforting in a sense, natural, doing to the boy what he does to everyone else, pushing them away until there's nothing left. But it's doing nothing to lessen the pounding in his head, the voice that's telling him to hang on for dear life, that _I need this kid. I don't know why, but I do._

"You've slept with Walker?" Brendan can hear the spark of a temper again, the colour that's bloomed back into Steven's cheeks, something like anger.

"You jealous?" He finds himself longing for the answer to be yes, doesn't know why, because that's a feeling, and he doesn't do _feelings_.

"Don't flatter yourself." It's defensive, and he doesn't completely believe it. "Did you really? You and him..."

Brendan can hear how much Steven needs it not to be true.

"No. I just...I'm being a bastard."

Steven's eyes soften like he undestands, and that's even worse. He won't be someone who some twenty three year old kid feels _sorry_ for. "I can't...we can't...not after what you just told me. Brendan, your dad -"

"Yeah, I'm aware." He rocks back on his heels, slight manic laughter escaping from his throat. "I don't need it repeating." It hurts enough just living with the knowledge of it. A reaffirmation might just kill him.

"When did it start?" Steven asks quietly. Very, very quietly.

"Eight," Brendan finds himself saying. But it was long before that, the beatings, the insults. It has no clear start because it's always been there.

He sees Steven's expression turn to one of shock. Brendan knows realistically that eight's young, but it's just become a number to him, just a five letter word.

"And when did it end?"

"It never ends." Because it doesn't. And Steven just seems to know, no other explanations required.

Brendan gets off Steven's bed, because if he's not going to be sleeping with him then it's too intimate, too close, and he keeps his distance instead, doesn't trust what he'll do to him. If it's not sex, then it's violence, and something tells him that if he hurts the boy then there's no sure way back from it.

"Your sister doesn't know, does she?"

_Why won't he stop talking? Can't he hear all the noise that's in my head, that leaves such little room for anything else?_

"No."

"What does she think happened?"

"She thinks I've been wrongfully charged." He laughs, he can't help it, can't believe the tales that Cheryl fabricates in order to believe him to be a good man, contrary to all available evidence. "They had everything - fingerprints, DNA, and she still thinks I've been set up."

"Love."

"What?" Brendan turns on his heels, the word sounding strange, alien.

"She loves you," Steven says softly.

She must, but he doesn't have a clue why. No other person would have stuck by him like this, visiting him and talking like he's going to get out in a month, a year, when he can already envisage Cheryl having her own kids, showing him pictures, feeding him stories, until the pictures become that of her grandkids, and they become the same age as he is right now, living the life he could have lived.

"She doesn't always make the best choices, my sister."

"She obviously sees something in you."

Brendan laughs. "Yeah, blood. The same genes. She wouldn't be here if it wasn't for that."

"You don't know that."

"Trust me kid, I've been around a bit longer than you."

"What, so that makes you some kind of expert? And stop with this kid stuff, I thought we were past that." Brendan notices the way Steven's accent becomes even more pronounced when he's mad. His initial assessment hasn't changed. _Straight from the gutter. _He just never realised he liked the gutter so damn much.

Steven moves off the bed, comes towards Brendan, and it's his turn to try and push him away now. The boy's made it clear that he doesn't want him for sex, and Brendan's got nothing else to give him.

"Please, you can talk to me. You don't have to shut me down."

"Jesus kid, you're needy, you're clingy." _And I'm a bastard. _

He's hurt him, he can tell. He's got that wounded puppy look, and Brendan may as well have just punched him, would have probably stung less. It's important he knows what he's like though, before Steven gets any ideas. Crazy ideas, like Vincent and Macca had, that they could _be together. _He wants to scream at all these boys, ask them what the hell they want him for, and don't they get it? Everything was torn out of him in that bedroom twenty four years ago.

"I just want to help you."

_Help_. For a second, he almost sees it, tastes it, feels it, what it would be like. Having someone who he can let go with like that, and the world won't crumble, he won't be left naked and humiliated, won't be cold and on his own again.

But it's too much, he's on the edge of a cliff and he can't afford to fall, can't even take a step towards it, because what if he nearly falters and he has nothing to hold onto anymore?

"Don't need anyones help," he mutters, firm. "Least of all yours. So go back to Simon."

"Fuck sake, Brendan." The kid's running his hands through his hair, looks exasperated, about ready to tear it out. "I was never with Walker, I never will be with Walker. Just drop it, yeah? I want to talk about _you_."

"Unless you're sucking my cock, I'm not interested."

Steven squares his eyes at him, a flash of disgust on his face that Brendan knows he deserves.

"You don't mean that, and you're not nearly as tough as you think. So try your worst on me, and I think I can take it. But I'll still be here."

"Not if I kill you." He doesn't mean it, of course he doesn't mean it, the idea of anyone hurting Steven makes him fucking protective and scared as anything, wants to wrap him in cotton wool and keep him safe from harm.

"Go on then." This kid's a chancer, bold as brass, up in his face, dark brows raised in a challenge.

Brendan slides down the wall then, wants to sink into the ground and build a home there, anywhere but here. He closes his eyes, lets himself drift away for a second, but still senses that Steven's there, and true to his promise, he's not going anywhere. He hears him crouch down with him, can almost see his eyes boring into his, unwavering.

"My step dad used to beat me up -"

"It's not the same." It gets to him though, the idea of Steven being hurt, but it doesn't come close.

"I know, I wasn't saying - let me finish, won't you? I know it could never be the same, and I don't have a clue what you went through, but - well, I know some of it. A tiny bit. We still don't know each other that well, but I think you're someone I want to know."

Brendan laughs. The boy's crazy, has no idea what he's getting himself into.

"I've always felt a bit different to other people."

Brendan listens, can't help himself.

"Like I never really...fit in. Anywhere. Even with Amy, I always feel like it's only a matter of time before she chucks me out, tells me it was all a mistake, and I can't even get being a dad right. After what she said to me today...well, that might happen."

Brendan wants to tell him that it won't, that whatever mistakes Steven's made he still reckons he's a pretty decent father. He cares about things, cares about people, even when he shouldn't.

"I feel like I fit in with you, though. Even when you make me feel like a right idiot." It's Steven's turn to laugh, nervously this time. "But I don't feel weird when I'm with you."

"Because I'm a freak."

"You know you've said that twice to me now, and neither time I've believed it."

"Please just go away, Steven." That'll hurt him enough to make him stop. But the boy never does what's expected.

"Don't think I will, actually."

Brendan's eyes open, and there he is, sitting there, arms crossed, challenging look in his eyes, not backing down, not for one second. God, Brendan really hates him.

"Think I'll just stay here all night, me. Camp out here, make it proper cosy, have a midnight feast, maybe lay a picnic blanket..."

"We're in a fucking prison."

The boy smiles. Taking the piss seems to be one of his favourite pastimes.

"We can roast some marshmallows and everything. How crispy do you like yours, Brendan?"

"I like choking them in your throat."

"Aw, that's dead nice, that is. You're a charmer, you."

Brendan has never met anyone like him before, doesn't know whether he wants to laugh or beat him with a stick while Johnny Cash drowns out his cries.

"As long as you promise not to kiss me again." Steven's looking at him in amusement. "I know I'm irresistible, but..."

"I think I can manage," he replies through gritted teeth, his patience wearing thin. Although in all honesty it's a struggle, the boy's smile showing those teeth of his, teeth that he really wouldn't mind feeling around his nipples right about now.

"You don't have to tell me about what happened with your dad now." He's serious then, looking at Brendan with concern. "Maybe one day."

_Maybe never. _But something stops him from saying it. A grunt is the only reply Steven gets.

"But I'll listen when you do."

"Thanks..." It's meant to come out sarcastic, but somehow it doesn't.

Steven props his feet against the wall, his trousers riding up, exposing the hairiness of his legs. Brendan's throat is anything but dry right now, swimming with saliva the way it always does when he's turned on, wants to lick down the hair on Steven's legs until it's even darker, wet to the touch. The boy seems to have no idea what effect he has, probably thinks that if he stripped down to his underwear the prisoners would still look the other way. It's annoying, and more charming than Brendan would like to admit.

"Right, you coming to bed then?"

Brendan thinks he's misheard, can't take the way Steven's mind seems to work a mile a minute, jumping from subject to subject, has an endless amount of energy that he's never seen in anyone before.

"What?"

"You coming into my bed?" Despite the boldness of his words he's still shy, Brendan can see it. His lip is quivering, and he looks close to retracting the offer.

"I thought you said..."

"I'm not going to have sex with you. I'm just asking you if you want to _sleep_ with me."

"It's barely eight o'clock." Steven's just asked him to jump into his bed, and he's focusing on the _time_.

"It's been a long day, hasn't it? I'm exhausted, and I don't know about you, but this is the worst excuse for a sheet I've ever seen." He pulls himself to his feet and toys with the bedcovers as if proving his point. He's not wrong. Brendan spends half the night just trying to get warm.

"I don't...I don't _cuddle_, Steven." The idea is absurd.

"I'm not asking you to spoon me or anything." He rolls his eyes, looks at Brendan as if saying _why do you have to make everything so difficult? _"You just look hairy, don't you? Like you could keep me warm."

"You're using me for my hair, Steven?" He almost laughs at the question.

"You can pay me back for me making you the buttercream."

Silas had ended up eating most of the cake when Tony wasn't looking anyway, the greedy git. Along with a fondness for jewellery, it seemed to be the older man's weakness.

"I don't..."

"Come on!" Steven pulls him up, actually bends down and takes him by the hands, and he allows himself to be led.

Steven doesn't bother to change into his nightclothes, just lies down on his bed, moving as close as possible to the wall to give Brendan enough space.

Brendan removes his shirt, his white vest underneath. He can see Steven's eyes on him, knows the boy fancies the pants off him whatever he says, can't help feeling slightly smug at the fact. Brendan looks at the door, but no one's looking through the screen window. Even if they do, he's had lads in here before, had Vincent sprawled out naked on his bed. Anyone looking in would just think he and Steven had fallen asleep afterwards. He smirks at the image of Walker looking through the window, seeing his boy become Brendan's boy.

Brendan keeps his trousers on, doesn't want Steven thinking that he's going to take advantage of this, even if it's what he wants most of all.

He climbs in beside him. It's a tight squeeze, the bed's not built for two people, but it's had the desired effect, and even with them sharing the sheet between them the cold feeling has gone, replaced by a warm snugness.

He doesn't put his arm around him, waits to see what Steven will do instead. He's willing to bet that if he placed a hand over the boy's heart it would be beating rapidly, jumping all over the place.

Steven leans his head against Brendan's shoulder, and the skin of his cheek is smooth, soft.

"Goodnight."

He feels Steven drifting away from him already, and is tempted to do the same, just give it all up, forget about tomorrow and allow the blanket of sleep to envelop him. He closes his eyes, knows that the boy's beside him the whole time, and feels himself give into it.


	7. Chapter 7

Brendan doesn't know where he is at first. When he wakes he recognises the ceiling to belong to the cell, sees the locked door with the familiar small slit of the screen window. But something is wrong. He has a body beside him, a sleeping body, and it's curled into him, their face pressing against his shoulder. _Steven._

It's a shock, waking up like this. Brendan hasn't fallen asleep with another man since Vincent, and it had felt too raw, too painful to contemplate it with anyone else after what happened. He couldn't risk someone else getting close, demanding things off him like the boy had. He knew Vincent had been fragile, but he'd had no idea he would crumble without him.

Steven is different somehow. He's not much older than Vincent, but there's a certain maturity in him, the sense that he's been through the wars, that he's not going to fall apart if Brendan pushes him away. He'd done the opposite when it had come down to it, clinging on for dear life even when Brendan had done everything in his power to make the boy repulsed by him. He still can't find any logic or rationale there, can't understand how he ended up here, a night spent in an almost peaceful slumber, no nightmares plaguing him like they usually do.

It had been easier than he'd thought to not have sex with Steven. Just having him close like this had settled him, had calmed him enough to stop the tumult from going on his head, if only for a little while.

He doesn't want to get soft though, doesn't want to let his guard down and make any stupid mistakes. He needs to make sure that the boy knows this was a one off, and that if he's not going to be fucking him then he's not going to be allowing this _spooning_ to continue. There are plenty of other places he can go, bodies he can bend and use to his will.

It's hard to concentrate on that with Steven looking like a fallen angel beside him though. His eyelashes are long and thick and almost have a sooty quality to them, casting shadows underneath his eyes. Even after being trapped in here for ten days he still has a golden tone to his skin, and he glows, he actually _glows_ in a way that Brendan finds impossible to conceive. His lips are full and not nearly as bee stung as Brendan would like them to be. He would have liked the boy to wake up with the prickle of his moustache evident on his mouth, lips rubbed raw from kisses.

Brendan tries to get off the bed without altering Steven. He can just imagine how that awkward conversation would go, both of them stuttering over their words in the cold light of day. But as he begins to move Steven rouses, making snuffling noises that some people would describe as cute. Brendan of course doesn't find them cute. Not at all.

Steven looks like he's having difficulty believing this just as much as Brendan is, blinking his eyes like he's dreaming. Self consciousness overcomes him, and he alternates between covering his hand over his mouth and flattening down his hair.

"I must look a proper mess," he says in embarrassment.

_You look rough. Sexy. _

"I'm surprised the officers haven't knocked yet."

"It's still early. That's what happens when you go to bed at eight o'clock." Brendan hasn't slept at that time since he was a child.

Steven stretches, and Brendan follows the movement, his eyes never swaying from the boy's long gangly limbs. He lets out a wide yawn.

"That was the best sleep I've had since I came here."

Brendan doesn't know how he does it, just says what's on his mind like that, so open and unashamed. He was thinking the same thing, that he can't remember the last time that he woke up feeling this warm. It should have been uncomfortable, the two of them squeezed together in the small single bed, but in the night whenever he did stir he'd felt Steven beside him, and it was a type of comfort that he last felt in another lifetime.

"Yeah well, don't get used to it." He turns his head, not wanting to see the look on Steven's face. It's important to keep a distance here. He doesn't want the boy to think he has any ownership of him.

"You hogged the cover anyway."

Brendan spins round to face him, can't bloody stop himself. "You what?"

"Kept on pulling it away from me in the night. And you made all these noises."

Brendan raises his eyebrows, wondering what these _noises_ could have consisted of. He's sure he didn't scream out in the night, otherwise Steven would have woken him again.

"Kept on breathing really loudly." Steven's smiling. He's fucking _playing_ with him.

"It's those little chicken arms of yours. They're not strong enough to pull the cover away." His arms aren't looking so little though, if he's honest. He's barely been able to keep his eyes off them, the way they look pretty damn capable. He'd seen for himself how strong his hands were in the cooking class, the way the boy's outer fragility contrasted with a surprising amount of robustness.

Steven pushes him for the insult, laughing. He's as light as air this morning, and Brendan's reluctant to break the spell.

When the door's opened neither of them expect it, and Steven stops laughing. Brendan half hopes to see Walker, and has to resist the urge to pull Steven closer, all but leering at him and spelling it out, _you're not having him. _He doesn't care if he's being childish. He knows what happens to the lads that Walker goes with. He uses them and then tosses them away like they're a piece of trash. In the past he's barely batted an eyelid, but Steven's his cellmate, he'll have to watch the whole thing from up close, every bit of pain that Walker inflicts on the boy. That's why Brendan tells himself he cares.

It's one of the guards, Darren. Brendan breathes a sigh of relief, knows that he'll have no trouble or snide comments from this guy. He's an irritant, but relatively harmless, tries to be the joker of the pack, seems to think this will get him on the right side of the men.

Brendan's sure that Darren knows he's gay. It's not cockiness, it's a simple fact that everyone in this place knows who he is, including the staff. But the lad's never caught him in this position before, and it appears to be a bit of a shock, Darren staring down at them like a rabbit in the headlights.

"Er...sorry Brendan. I was just - it's breakfast time."

He should feel lucky that he's only caught the two men in their full clothes, but his cheeks flush, and Brendan gets out of bed, uses it as the excuse he needs to stop this strange sense of intimacy that's sprung up between him and Steven. Sharing his bed may have been part of the deal, but pillow talk wasn't.

He sees Steven putting on his shoes out of the corner of his eye, and Brendan slings on his own shirt, can feel the atmosphere in the room, and can't help the prickling of shame that arises because of it. He may not be a closet case but he's not about to do a coming out dance because of it.

Steven stares at him when he's fully dressed, seems to be gauging his reaction. Brendan just nods at him, doesn't want them to have to walk down to the dining room together like they're a fucking couple. Steven moves past Darren and is led down by another guard while Brendan puts the bedding in place, the crinkling of the sheets looking strange, a reminder of the night he spent with the boy that is already beginning to feel distant.

"Another guy so soon, Brendan? You move fast."

This is the problem with Darren. His fear of Brendan means that he over compensates, that he thinks they're _friends_, friends who talk about this kind of thing. Brendan doesn't talk to anyone about this, would rather chew his own ear off, but the idea of laying it out with an officer makes his anger rise to the surface, makes him want to wipe that stupid smirk off Darren's face.

He goes up close, stands an inch apart from the man, and stares him down. It works every time, and Darren's all but shaking in front of him.

"What are you saying?"

"Nothing," Darren tries to dismiss, laughing nervously. "Just that you do well, don't you? The kid's only been here for like a week, and you've already got him in your bed."

Brendan narrows his eyes. "Take me down to breakfast before I do something I won't regret."

When he gets to the dining room he's surprised to see Walker sitting on their usual table. Ever since Steven's arrived he's taken to joining him, Douglas and Ethan instead, and Brendan's becoming accustomed to the quiet, to being able to eat his meals in peace without a running commentary of his martial arts achievements, or having to watch the man flirt with the guards, including Lynsey. Brendan likes her, likes the way she treats him, like he's an actual human being instead of a piece of dirt on her shoe. She's tougher than she looks, can laugh off Walker's remarks effortlessly, but it makes his skin crawl, having to listen to the lewd come ons.

"Not joining your latest prize today?" He asks, placing his tray on the table and sitting next to Walker.

"Ste? We're taking a holiday from each other." He grins in a way that suggests he's anything but upset about this, and Brendan knows him, knows he's planning something, that a man like him doesn't take no for an answer.

"How long a holiday are you talking here?" Brendan chews a bit of toast, tries to distract himself, not letting Walker catch on how this is straining him.

"Ste has another six days to decide on our contract." He says it as casually as if that's all it is, a business agreement. Brendan knows there's no such thing, not when it comes to him.

"Contract? Are you going to stop being so fucking cryptic and spit it out?"

"Spit it out...you never used to say that to me before."

"Ha ha." Being with Walker is like being surrounded by a walking, talking book of sex jokes.

"He's beautiful, isn't he?"

Brendan knows what he's talking about instantly, no need to elaborate. He makes a humming sound, doesn't trust himself to speak.

"Come on, you'd have to blind not to think so."

"Weedy fellow." It sounds blasphemous, not entire untrue but wrong nonetheless. Steven deserves more than that. A whole lot more.

"Looks like he'd be good to fuck, though."

Brendan rolls his eyes, tuts like he's disbelieving, tries to deny that he's thought the same thing since he met Steven.

"I'll tell you what he's like."

Brendan looks at Walker sharply at that, beginning to feel uncomfortably hot. The dining room is too crowded, too loud, his head pounding.

"You're not going to..." _Sleep with him. Be with him. Take him away from me._

"Weren't you wondering what I talked to him about the other day? I've told Ste the terms of the agreement, and now all he has to do is sign with that pretty arse of his." Walker raises his bowl of cereal to his lips and fucking slurps the thing noisily, and Brendan wants to bring the bowl down on top of his head, ram it into his teeth. When he puts it down he laughs, and it's quieter than Steven's, but somehow incredibly annoying where the boy's is endearing.

"Don't worry Brendan, I'll still have time for you." Walker lays a hand on Brendan's thigh, and he has to make an effort to not slam his own down on top of it, crushing his hand. "Maybe Ste will even be open to the two of us," he continues with a wink.

Brendan bats Walker's hand away, doesn't have the energy to indulge him in his sordid fantasies. He's slept with the man because of a whole host of reasons that are anything but romantic. Availability, because Walker's good in bed when Brendan can get him to shut up for more than five minutes and get down to it. Brendan doesn't use the term _fuck buddies_, but that's what it amounts to. With them there is no contract, it's based on when and where, and the fact that Walker wants to make Steven officially his makes Brendan nervous as hell and fucking twitchy, doesn't like how permanent that sounds.

Walker ignores his rebuff, leans in close, eyes hooded, intimate. "You want to meet me later?"

"What will your precious Steven say?"

"I told you, I've given him another week."

Brendan doesn't think it's safe, not for him but for Walker, thinks he might end up tearing chunks out of the man if he's put in a confined space with him, can barely remove the image of Walker and Steven from his mind as it is.

"Tell you what, Simon." He gets up, finishes the last remaining bites of toast, makes a real show of it, crumbs on his moustache, chewing loudly and slowly, wants to make Walker as repulsed as he is with him right now. "Go and wank yourself off on some porn, won't you? Because you're not getting that from me again."

* * *

Ste leans against the doorway until the class has filed out completely. They need to be alone for this.

He knocks on the door to alert her to his presence, but Lynsey still jumps when she sees him. He tries to reassure her, paint on a smile to show that they're not enemies here, that she doesn't have to be scared of him.

"Can I come in?"

"Sure."

He closes the door behind him, making sure it's properly shut.

"Ste, about the other day -"

"Please, let me...let me talk first." He needs to get this out, can't spend the next few months dodging her everywhere he goes. "I'm sorry about what happened. Walking in like that." The memory is still with him, watching her and Doug breaking apart like they'd been electrocuted.

"I should of knocked."

"I should of...well, I shouldn't have been doing that," Lynsey says in a small voice, and it goes so against Doug's big speech about how they're going to build a future together that Ste can't help but press her.

"But you two are together, aren't you? Doug told me."

She looks faintly embarrassed of the fact, and Ste guesses it perhaps wasn't a confidence that Doug was meant to have shared, that it came tumbling out because of what he said about Brendan.

"I shouldn't really be discussing this with a student, Ste." _Ex student. _

He wants to remind her of the irony of the statement when he's caught her about to have sex with a pupil. She seems to realise it at the exact moment he does, and slumps against the desk, rubbing at her eyes, the cheerful demeanor that she's had since they met evaporating.

"I know what you must think of me. That I'm a bad person, unprofessional, stupid."

"Lynsey, I'm in here for getting caught shoplifting nappies and fish fingers. I think we're pretty much even."

She laughs, looking thoroughly relieved that Ste's not taking the moral high ground here.

"I tried to stop it at first. I know it's wrong - I'm not trying to say it isn't. It's the most reckless thing I've ever done. I could lose my job for this, and that's the least of it."

Ste doesn't need to ask why she's doing it, the answer so obvious it's screaming at him.

"When Doug gets of here - are you two going to..."

"We're planning on getting a flat together. If anyone asks about where we met..." She looks to the ceiling, biting her lip. "I'll make up some story, I suppose."

Ste feels like he's pushing her to the limit here, that he's asked her to reveal something which she hasn't even begun to process in her own mind yet.

"I'm sorry." He moves to the door, trying to make his intentions clear. He's not going to prolong this. "I just wanted to let you know that I won't tell anyone. I wouldn't do that."

"Thank you."

He nods, hand on the door.

"Ste?" He turns round. "I'm sorry too. About the class. I really do think you're intelligent."

He chuffs a laugh. "Me? Intelligent?" He wonders if this is some last attempt to butter him up and keep him from spilling the truth to anyone.

"Yes," she says with conviction, and he almost believes her, _wants_ to believe her. "That's why I spoke to Tony about other classes. You're too clever to just be sat in your cell doing nothing. You've got real potential."

"In what?" He's not fishing for compliments. He honestly can't think of a single thing he could be good at, has always felt like there's little point in trying because he'll fail anyway.

"Tony tells me you were excellent in your first cooking class."

Ste can't deny that he enjoyed it, that it felt satisfying to create something and see the end effect, to not screw it all up.

"I can't really do anything with cooking though, can I? I mean it's not like I can be a chef."

"Why not?" Lynsey seems genuinely curious, like she actually thinks he's capable of it. It disarms him, feels overwhelming to look someone with that much hope in the eye.

"I..." He thinks of reasons, but all that comes to mind is that he just _can't_. "I don't know." It hangs in the air between them, seems to reverberate against the walls. "I don't really know anything at the moment."

"What do you mean?"

He _needs_ to talk to someone about this, can't deal with it on his own, and can't risk talking to Doug again and making things even more strained between them. Suddenly he thinks Lynsey might be the only person who can understand this.

"There's...there's someone I like here. One of the prisoners." He's aware of how insane it sounds. Telling people that he's interested in another man isn't getting easier, and he registers the brief look of surprise on Lynsey's face before she's tactful enough to cover it.

"That happens a lot here, Ste. People get lonely, and -"

"I'm not lonely." Or he is, but that's not what this is about. "I've only been here ten days. It's more than that. I've met this person, and things are...confusing."

"Because you like another man?"

"No." He only realises when he says it. It's not that it's another man. It's that it's _Brendan_. "He's done...he's done something terrible. He's killed someone."

Lynsey doesn't look shocked, but then how could she be? The place is crawling with murderers. Some days Ste feels practically saintly in comparison.

"I don't know if I can get past that, the idea of him killing someone the way he did. But..." He never thought there would be a _but_, but last night changed everything. "What if he had a reason? Something that I could understand."

"A reason for killing someone?"

"I know it sounds stupid." He's not blind to how crazy this is, but he can't get it out of his head. Brendan wanting him to hate him, telling him what his father did to him. The way he had acted afterwards, like he was somehow reliving it all. A cynical part of Ste had wondered for one second if Brendan was capable of being that sick, of lying to him about it because he wanted Ste to pity him, to sleep with him. He doesn't even know what job Brendan did before this, what hobbies he had, what his life was like growing up in Ireland. But he's sure, he's _sure_ that Brendan isn't lying, but he doesn't have the faintest clue why.

"I didn't want to have anything to do with him at first. I thought he was some kind of psycho, but what if he's not? What if he snapped one day because everything got too much?"

He can see Lynsey trying to understand, straining with it, but she's not there yet. Ste doesn't think she could ever truly know what he means unless he utters the words. _Rape. Child abuse. Eight years old, and it never ends. _But he can't do that to Brendan, would feel like the biggest betrayal. Ste's the first person he's ever told, and this is all in Brendan's hands, he'll be the last person to ever know if that's the way he wants it.

He risks being too personal, thinks they've passed that stage already. "Did you ever think about this kind of thing with Doug? With what happened to that girl, and the overdose?"

"Of course, but..." But it's different. He knows it's different. "Doug was open about what had happened, and he showed remorse. Sometimes you have to forgive."

_Remorse_. Brendan hasn't shown a fleck of it so far, not the merest indication that he feels bad for what he did to his father. It had consumed Ste's mind at first. He'd wondered if when he got visits from Cheryl he felt guilty for what he'd done, for taking their dad away. But yesterday in the cell all that had drifted away, and Ste was no longer waiting for remorse. He didn't think he'd feel any either, if Terry had done that to him. He never thought when he met Brendan that he'd be drawing comparisons between them.

"Please, just tell me what to do." He can't keep the desperation out of his voice, _needs_ someone to tell him how he's possibly meant to go about resolving this, realises that if Lynsey told him to stay away from Brendan, to forget about his feelings for him, then he fucking couldn't, but he can't go in the other direction, can't give into it, otherwise there's no going back.

"I think this one has to be up to you, Ste."

"I had a bad feeling that's what you were going to say." She laughs at the way he's all but going into a sulk, has to whine and pout about this, might kick something if he doesn't.

It's strange going outside the classroom again. For a second he almost imagined that he was back home, and that could have been Amy he was talking to, albeit without the _"Steven Hay, you've left a pile of dishes in the sink and if they're not gone in half an hour then I'll serve your head to the kids for tea."_

He misses her, a dull ache inside him that the visit only exacerbated. He'd finally reached a stage where he was relaxed around her, where he didn't have to keep a lid on things and keep his anger in check, his fists under control. When he walks the halls of the prison he feels like he has to register every movement, every sound, has to watch his back even if he's not getting the shit beaten out of him like some of the other guys.

He's seen it already, the way some of the men have had to go to the hospital. If a new guy comes in and the story spreads, _"He was done for being in a paedophile ring" "He raped a girl",_ they're targeted until Ste barely recognises their face the next day, until hanging themselves suddenly becomes the better option.

Ste knows he's an easy target, that even if he spends every waking moment at the gym he's never exactly going to be Popeye. He knows that it's men who help out guys like him, that it's the Warren's and Simon's and Brendan's of this prison who are his protection. Only how can he call it that when being with one of them would be the biggest risk of all?

He knows what he has to do, knows that whatever's going on with Brendan, it's never going to work out. He's leaving in a few months, and less than two weeks ago Brendan was throwing him against his wall, his temper erupting like a volcano.

_He knows what he has to do. _But Ste wouldn't be in this place if he played by the rules.

* * *

Brendan's finished Hamlet, devours books and plays like they're drugs, rolls his eyes at the sheer romanticism of some of them, but it doesn't stop him from continuing them, plans on them keeping the last vestiges of his sanity alive during his sentence.

He gets them from Silas, tries to keep conversation as short as possible, knows that behind the man's harmless grandfather persona there's the guy who killed a girl barely out of her teenage years, stole her jewellery like it's his fucking calling card. Brendan goes to the library at least once a week, walks straight past the general fiction section and heads straight to the classics.

Silas seems to think that because they've both killed someone they're bonded for life, doesn't read the disgust on Brendan's face, or if he does he ignores it. He regards this place as some sort of holiday camp, mutters under his breath about how he's away from_ "the whores, the bitches and the sluts." _

Brendan tunes him out, concentrates on the ticking clock behind the wall, drums on the counter, chews gum, hums under his breath. He hadn't been able to stop himself the other week though, had nearly earned himself another life sentence. Some days it's hard to see what difference it would make when he's in here till he dies.

There had been rumours, rumours about Lynsey and the Yank, harmless for the most part, equivalent to playground gossip, _"She gives him extra assignments, if you know what I mean."_ Brendan was starting to think he was in prison with a bunch of twelve year olds. Silas hadn't let it drop though, seemed to have a fascination with Lynsey that made Brendan's stomach turn, couldn't stand the thought of the older man's eyes leering over her.

It had only taken two words, _"cheap slut"_, but Brendan had grabbed him by his throat, all but dragged him over the desk, had to be restrained by the guards. He'd calmed down enough to get them off him, had been marched down to Tony's office but nothing further had come of it. He wasn't a snitch in this place, but he'd sat there for half an hour, could hardly even make sense of what he was saying, just muttered over and over again _"She's a good girl, needs to be looked after, doesn't deserve that, I won't hear anyone saying that about her."_

He's trying to make this book last so he doesn't have to go back there again soon, but it's hard when you're stuck in a cell for most of the day, going to the gym and cookery class being fucking _treats_.

He doesn't look up when he hears Steven enter.

"Started another one?" The boy nods over to the book. "What's this one about? Death and pain again?"

"Love. Gatsby's in love with Daisy, has been all his life. She becomes an obsession to him. He makes her his entire world, everything in his life revolving around her. Except she betrays him."

Steven sits down on his own bed, looks across at Brendan, face scrunched up the way it does when he's trying hard to concentrate. It's a trait that he has that Brendan's noticed, and he finds it more charming than he would like.

"How? Does she cheat on him?"

"She's with another man, yes. But that's not how she betrays him."

"How then?"

"She just doesn't love him enough. She doesn't need him the way he needs her. He bases his whole life around her, but in the end he's alone. He dies."

Steven raises his eyebrows. "You really need to choose happier books, Brendan."

"I'll make sure I order Mills and fucking Boon next time."

Steven laughs, and Brendan doesn't want to shut his ears off from it, not anymore, not like in the beginning.

"I saw you talking to Walker before."

Brendan puts the book down, doesn't like to even hear the man's name on Steven's lips, knows it's irrational as hell, but he has to resist writing "Brendan Brady's property" on the boy's head, would do it in felt tip marker or smudged crayon if that's what it would take.

"Did he...ask about me?"

"Why? Want to know what he said? Want me to be your messenger, pass letters between the bars?"

He's being a bastard and he knows it, can see it in Steven's face that he can take these digs, but it stings, it sucks out the warmth and the trust.

"I just want to know if he's planning on leaving me alone this week, like he said."

"Why, are you missing him?" _I can't fucking stop. _

"Why are you being like this?" Steven stands, runs his hands through his hair like he does when he's annoyed, and Brendan rises to it rather than calming it.

"Like what? You're so sensitive, you're whining-"

"I'm not whining! God Brendan, are things always going to be like this between us? Are we ever just going to be on a level?"

"What us? There is no us." He's spitting it now, disgusted at himself, can't turn off this button that makes him ruin every good thing in his life.

It stills Steven. More than the insults, more than the bruises, the idea that there's no _us_ stops him.

"I thought we were..."

"What? How did you think this was going to end?" Brendan comes up close, so close to Steven's mouth that he could bend down and taste it easily now, it wouldn't take much. "That we'd get out of here, sail off into the sunset, find a fountain, toss a coin in the water and make a wish? Walk down the street hand in hand? Jesus Steven, you're so fucking naive."

"You're a complete idiot, you know that? A coward."

He wasn't expecting it, thought that the boy would run, that he'd finally scare him away. Steven has tears in his eyes, fear mixed with hurt, but he's not backing off.

"You can't even deal with the fact that you may actually like me. I've heard a million stories about you in this place Brendan, but I've never heard that you're scared, that you haven't got the guts."

He should kill him for that, should put Steven in the hospital away from him at last, may actually get some of the peace that he's been craving since the little git moved into his life and fucked everything up.

"I thought when I'd invited you into my bed last night that you might have finally got a clue, but looks like you woke up this morning just as stupid as ever."

"Steven -" As well as his anger he actually wants to _laugh_ now, laugh at the sheer passion of the boy, how he's the stubbornest person he's ever met.

"No, let me finish! I didn't tell you to sleep with me because I felt sorry for you, so if that's what you're thinking you can get it out of your head. Even if you hadn't told me what happened with your dad I would have done it."

"Why?" Brendan whispers it, can't understand how someone could want him like that.

"Because that's who I am, alright? I like you. I probably shouldn't, because nine times out of ten you make me want to kill you, but that one time...that one time I just want to kiss you." Steven shakes his head, laughing in amazement at himself, like he can hardly believe what he's saying. "No, you know what? Scrap that. Even when I want to kill you I still want to kiss you."

"Walker's a good looking guy -"

"Oh God, will you stop going on about Walker? Otherwise you're going to make me think you have some kind of shrine, that he's your Daisy."

Brendan can't keep it in then, lets out a loud laugh at the idea of Simon Walker as Daisy Buchanan, dress and hair in place. He sees Steven's eyes softening, and when they share a smile it's like there's no one else on earth.

But it fades, it all has to fade, he _can't_ let this thing become something that he'll only lose.

"You were ashamed of me, Steven. You didn't want to know -"

"Can you blame me?" _No. But that's not the point._ "People had told me stuff."

"Douglas?" Brendan knows how he works, thinks he's so damn _good_ because he's not a lifer.

"Just...people. You told me so yourself, you bashed your dad's head in with a hammer -"

"Can we not talk about that?" He doesn't want it to be all he sees when he looks at Steven, has those images in his head every night when he tries to sleep, can't physically take anymore.

"I was afraid."

Of course Steven should be afraid, it's the smart, sensible thing to feel. But it hurts. Sometimes he can't take being a person who terrifies other people. _Not Steven. _

"I'm not anymore though."

"Why not?"

"Sometimes you have to forgive, don't you?"

_Forgiveness_. He's never received it because he's never admitted what he's done, could never tell Cheryl, would have to admit the truth to her if he did. He goes to the appeals, stands up in court and says that he was wrongfully convicted, does it to make her have something to live for. He realises it's imperative to her survival, that she needs to believe someone else killed Seamus.

He can't forgive himself though, can't forgive that he took another person's life, feels dirty every day, hated the feel of blood on his hands, the crack of bone underneath the hammer. He can't forgive himself for being raped, thinks that he could have _done_ something, and what if Seamus had seen something wrong in him, _why_ did he choose him, what if he deserved it?

"I liked sleeping with you last night," Steven admits in a quiet voice, staring up at Brendan shyly underneath his lashes.

"I did too." Honesty. It feels refreshing. He liked having Steven beside him, like the emptiness that surrounds him was beaten down, suffocated.

"Do you want to do it again?"

It's his time to say _no_, to push Steven away physically if he has to, set the limits, let the boy cry all over him if that's what it takes, but he won't do _that_ again, can't let himself have another night of _cuddling. _

"Yes."

"Good." He gives a small smile, still so curiously shy. "Come on then." Steven offers him his hand again, just like yesterday, even though he doesn't need to be pulled up like last time. There's not an inch of space between them.

"Steven, it's not even night time. I don't want to sleep."

"Neither do I."

Brendan takes a moment to process it, feels like the puzzle pieces are slowly slipping into place.

"You mean..."

"Yeah. _I mean_." Steven grins, looks insecure but gorgeous with it, like he's willing Brendan to say yes with his eyes and lips, might never ask again if he says no. "Do you want me to spell it out for you?"

"Yes. Please." Brendan wouldn't mind a graph and a pie chart, can't keep up, can't believe this is actually happening.

Steven focuses on his lips, eyes dark, boy was born to seduce, Brendan's never seen anything like it. "I want to go to bed with you, and I want you to have sex with me."

Brendan's Adam's apple bobs up and down, hasn't felt this nervous in a long time, the stakes higher, because this could actually mean something, _does_ mean something.

There's not even the option of saying no. He doubts if he could even form the word on his tongue right now, wants to cross it out of the dictionary he hates it so much, mouths to Steven _"Yes"_, and prays to God that he sees it and doesn't change his mind.

Brendan leans forward to kiss him, but he sees Steven draw back and look at the screen window. The boy won't want anyone looking in, of course he won't, even if right now Brendan could fuck him in front of the entire prison.

Brendan goes to the door, nearly smirks when he sees that Darren's patrolling his floor still.

"Oi. Osborne?"

Darren comes at the speed of lightning, is like a dog with a bone, wants to be on Brendan's good books so fiercely that it's embarrassing. _Useful_.

"I'm going to need some privacy here. So if you could just lock the window..." All the guards have a set of keys that can make the screen go white, shutting out the inside.

"Sorry Brendan, you know I can't do that."

Brendan sighs, knows that Darren's unnecessarily prolonging this when it's going to happen, and they both know it.

"How's that wife of yours, Darren? Nancy, isn't it? Beautiful girl. And Oscar - he must still be young, right? Not even a year?"

Darren swallows, has turned pale, knows _exactly_ what Brendan's doing here.

"Yeah..."

"It would be a shame if something happened to them," he whispers, low and promising.

"I...I can tell Tony about this, you know."

Brendan laughs, and Darren takes a step back, looks like it's burnt him.

"One word from me to one of my boys, and they'd be both killed before Tony could lift a finger."

The only _boys_ he has are Declan and Paddy, and he'd rather slit his own throat than hurt a woman and her child, but Darren doesn't know this, looks sick and terrified and clammy.

"How long do you need?"

Brendan looks back into the cell. Steven's sprawled out on the bed now, still dressed but looks like he's willing Brendan to get on with it, hand rubbing against his groin. Jesus.

"Give us two hours."

"Two? Brendan, I can't -"

"Thanks, Osborne."

Brendan slams the door, turning back to the boy on his bed.

He's about to go to hell, and he can't fucking wait.


	8. Chapter 8

Alone at last.

Brendan walks towards the bed, feeling like his legs have turned to the equivalent of jelly. He doesn't do _nervous_, never has, but he feels it now, strong and undeniably present. He hears the click of the screen window being closed, knows that Darren's done what he's asked him, and Steven's relaxed because of it, looks at him with unconcealed desire, motions with his hands for Brendan to join him on the bed.

He rolls down next to Steven, doesn't want to waste any more time, has been thinking about claiming those lips ever since he first saw them, so soft and open, had parted effortlessly under his the first time.

There's the assurance now that Steven's not going to push him away this time, that he can finally kiss him properly, and he leans forward in an instant, both of them propped up on their sides on the bed, tongues rubbing together, small moan escaping from Steven's mouth, because this is _it_.

Brendan doesn't even try to be gentle, the word isn't part of his vocabulary, and he reckons this boy can take it, the way he's pulling Brendan's face towards him, anchoring him with his hands. Brendan moves on top of him, likes the control it gives him, likes the feeling of Steven's warm body pressing against his, their chests in contact, their groins close but still not close enough.

Vincent and Macca had both laughed at the feel of his moustache the first time that Brendan had done this with them, had broken away giggling,_ "feels funny, strange"_, but Steven's not doing that now, is ferocious and unrelenting, open mouthed, and Brendan can feel Steven's hands on his back, all but clawing at him, rough and just the way he likes it, pain giving way to pleasure.

The outside world is releasing him from its grip, he can't concentrate on anything other than Steven on the bed, his hands and mouth and the knowledge that he's going to devour every part of him, and it's the relief that he's been craving, the escape that he can only get through physical intimacy with another person. He wonders if that's normal, if it could possibly make sense, that through the act of sex he forgets about the rape, but it displaces it somehow, he's in charge here and he sets the limits and rules, he's not that helpless child anymore. He's free from the shackles and the shame.

Steven's speaking between kisses now, whispers while Brendan's making his mark on every inch of his skin, his lips and his cheeks and his jaw, working his way down.

"Do you remember when...when you said that I could ride your face...and rimming...do you remember when you said..."

"I'll show you it all." Can't fucking wait to show him, how can it be possible that the boy's been here for ten days and he's been waiting his whole life for this?

"Oh God," Steven groans it, low and deep, and Brendan can tell he's going to be as noisy at sex as he is with everything, suits him just fine, plans on making him scream so loud that the guards think he's committed another felony, wants to rock the bed off its foundations.

Brendan reaches for Steven's flies, sees the boy's eyes follow his movements, his upper lip red from their contact already, spit slicked lips shiny and mesmersing.

He's hard already, cock lying on his stomach, and Brendan reaches through his boxers and strokes him, fingers brushing over the sensitive head, easing over it slowly, making Steven tip his head back, arch his stomach off the bed. Brendan could bet that he's never been touched like this before, and it numbs the voices in his head that have existed since Steven told him that he's been with other men, thinks that whatever they did with the boy, it didn't feel this good. He's going to make Steven see that a quick fuck is _nothing_ compared to this, foreplay deliciously drawn out, that by the time he fucks him he'll be gasping for it, body so ready that it's shaking.

He continues the steady up and down with his hand, enjoying the way the boy's forehead is beginning to shine with sweat, can barely look at Brendan, has to close his eyes to not come too soon.

Brendan removes his hand, makes a satisfied smile when the begging already starts, Steven pleading _"Don't Stop."_ He kisses him, reassuring, and spits into his hand, places it back on Steven's cock, the moisture all but making the boy purr.

He's good at this, he _knows_ he is, makes reducing men to a quiver his art, he's the fucking Picasso of sex.

"How many people have sucked you off before, Steven?" He waits with bated breath for the answer, doesn't particularly _want_ to hear it, but it will be important afterwards, he'll make sure he makes Steven come harder than he ever has in his life.

"Three I think...four...I don't know."

"Hmmm. Well lets see if they've ever done it like this, shall we?"

He takes off Steven's trousers and boxers, tosses them into the corner of the cell, would quite happily never see them again in here, plans to make Steven in a state of undress the first thing he sees in the morning and the last thing he sees at night.

He encourages Steven to raise his legs and place them around his neck, the soles of his feet rubbing against Brendan's back while he surveys what's in front of him. The boy looks embarrassed, has blushed pink from Brendan's ministrations and from insecurity, is spreading his legs but looks like he's trying to resist the urge to cover his cock with his hands.

Brendan tuts, no one should ever feel like that, least of all this boy, wants to worship his body and lick every inch of it to let him know that he's fucking gorgeous, most desirable thing he's ever seen.

He moves as closely to Steven's groin as he possibly can, licks around the scattering of dark pubic hairs and takes the head of his dick in his mouth, tongue fluttering over it.

"You've got a beautiful cock."

"Er...thanks."

Brendan laughs. "You don't say thanks to that. You ask me what I'm going to do with it."

"What are you going to do with it?" Still embarrassed, still hasn't realised how Brendan is going to reduce that shyness to ashes, is going to make it so Steven knows how perfect he is.

"What do you want me to do with it?"

"You know..." The boy says meekly.

"No. Enlighten me." He needs him to say it.

He nuzzles Steven's thigh, waits for the answer to come, knows it's buried there somewhere, that all this is waiting to be released from him. Steven's not _shy_, he just needs someone to introduce him to who he was born to be.

"I want you to...suck it." _Bingo_.

"Like this?" Brendan asks innocently, acts like he's a pupil who Steven's schooling, takes his cock into his mouth half way, gazes up at the boy and watches him staring, transfixed, like he can't believe what he's seeing. He takes it out again, Steven's lips are parted, and he _has_ to kiss them, would be a crime if he didn't, wants him to taste himself on Brendan's mouth.

"Or like this?" He shuffles down again, takes Steven's cock back into his mouth, down to the root this time.

"Fucking hell," the boy whispers, and Brendan smiles, knows he's got him, draws back again coiling his tongue, and then takes him all the way down again in one fluid motion.

"How do you do that without gagging?" He sounds overwhelmed.

"Practice. You'll get the hang of it." Brendan kisses the tip, can't seem to stop touching Steven now that they've started this.

"Right, well...I didn't mean to..." The boy's stuttering over his words, and Brendan wants to put him out of his misery.

"What?"

"I shouldn't of asked. I didn't want you to...you know, stop." His cheeks colour.

Brendan grins, fucking delighted at what he's hearing. "Steven, are you telling me to shut the fuck up and get back to sucking you off again?"

"What - no, no of course not -" He stops, laughs. "Yes, actually."

"Say it then." He feels triumphant, giddy with it. Just like that, Steven's looking at him like he's been given permission to be who he wants to be.

"Brendan, shut the fuck up and suck me off again, won't you? I haven't got all day. I've got an important job interview soon you know, got to take the kids to school, got to go to the shops, got to go to the bank -"

Brendan silences him by guiding his cock into his mouth, feels Steven's hand raking through his hair, alternating between stroking it and pulling it roughly to move him closer to his groin.

He sucks Steven like he's the best thing he's ever tasted, might well be, musky, his cock filling his mouth like it's all that he can feel.

His jaw aches but he doesn't relent in his actions, focuses on the noises that Steven's making instead, encouraging and affirming, the biggest turn on he's ever heard, makes him wonder what the boy will be like when he's fucking him, feels his own dick straining against his trousers uncomfortably.

"Brendan, I'm going to -"

"Do it."

It sends the boy over the edge and he shoots down Brendan's throat, hot and sweet. Brendan swallows and licks his lips clean, crawls up immediately and kisses Steven, growls into his mouth and rubs his fingers over his nipples. He marvels at how responsive he is, still hungry for more, grabbing Brendan's arse through the material of his jeans.

"That was...bloody hell."

"Jesus Steven, what have these other lads been doing to you?" Really he wants to do a victory dance of the macarena variety around the cell, drawing on the walls_ Brendan: 1 Past fucks: O._

"They didn't do it like _that_." He sounds out of breath, like he's been running a marathon.

Brendan makes a trail across Steven's mouth with his finger, thinks they're blow job lips if ever he's seen them.

"Are you sure no one's going to come in?"

"Relax," He croons. "Darren practically works for me. He's given us two hours."

Steven raises his eyebrows, smiling. "Two hours, eh? That's a long time. What do you plan on doing to me?"

Brendan leans close to his ear, chews on his lobe and then whispers it, making Steven shiver._ "Everything."_

Steven runs a hand over Brendan's cheek, then down to his moustache, fingers brushing the hairs there.

"I like this."

"Have a thing for facial hair, do you?"

"Maybe your facial hair. I never really thought about it before."

"Now you're stuck with it, aren't you?" Brendan says, amused.

"Stuck with you."

"Is that such a bad thing?" His voice is light, but he _needs_ to know.

Steven leans forward and kisses him, just because he's his now, just because he can.

"I've never been so pleased to be trapped."

He should probably laugh at the boy's sentimentality, but kissing him feels better, and Steven responds to it like it's the first time, gets a mouthful of his moustache like he's proving his point.

"Bren."

He likes that nickname, could happily get used to it.

"Yeah?"

"Come up here." He holds Brendan around the thighs and tries to pull him up, and Brendan understands instantly, shifts so that he's straddling him, and Steven's hands go to his jeans, undoing the buckle.

"Want some help?" Brendan asks, impatient as hell, can't wait to get Steven's mouth around him. He shucks himself out of his jeans and pants, clothes landing in a heap next to Steven's, taking off his shirt at the same time, Steven's hands running over his chest, feeling his muscles and the hair that lies there.

Steven's hands are tentative at first, as if working out whether he's allowed to do this, still can't believe that this is all his to touch and kiss and explore, feels like a dream and they've floated away from the world. Prison doesn't exist and neither does anyone else.

"You can touch me," Brendan encourages, and Steven does it then, _properly_ touches, puts his hands on him like he feels deserving, like he's giving himself permission to have this.

Steven grabs a hold of Brendan's arse, motions for him to move even closer towards him, and Brendan positions himself so that his cock is rubbing against Steven's lips, laying both his hands flat on the wall behind the bed, steadying himself.

"You're so big," Steven says, breathes it like it's little more than hot air, sounds amazed and overwhelmed.

"Just take it slowly."

He feels Steven's tongue on him then, and his hands on the base of his cock. His gives little lapping licks while jerking him off, and Brendan concentrates on a spot on the wall, knows that if he focuses on Steven then he won't be able to resist thrusting into his mouth, making the boy gag and possibly scaring him off for life.

"It's not going to hurt, is it? This inside me?" He's already worrying about the main event, spark of fear in his voice, hasn't yet learnt how good this can be.

Brendan takes a hand off the wall and uses it to stroke Steven's hair, feels the soft strands running through his fingertips, tries to calm him.

"Just start with this, yeah? Don't worry, I'll look after you."

He looks reassured, if only momentarily, and Brendan sees him open his lips wider, swears at the sight of it, hottest thing he's ever seen, Steven's mouth working the head of his cock, slowly taking in more.

It's been a while since Brendan's done this. A few guys here and there since Vincent, but they've been rushed encounters. The new block he'd been moved to hadn't been as easy to manipulate, less officers like Darren who he could bend to his will. He feels it now, the effects of going so long without this, and his legs are already beginning to shake.

Steven is a fast learner, seemed to be taking notes when Brendan was doing this to him, and he's taking almost all of him into his mouth now, stroking what he can't yet manage. Brendan feels sweaty, skin itching, half wants to smash his head against the wall just to get some relief from this pressure, feels like his orgasm is building up inside him so much that it's almost painful.

He's not going to come before he's fucked the boy though, has enough years and experience to hold out, but can't resist moving lightly back and forth on Steven's mouth, little thrusts first so he doesn't choke. Steven accommodates him, opens up wider and takes it, makes slurping noises that shoot straight to Brendan's dick and makes him grow even harder.

Steven takes his mouth off, still strokes up and down Brendan's shaft, gathers his saliva and spits down on his cock, uses it as his own form of lubrication._ Jesus. _

"You going to show me what riding is, then?" His eyes are sparkling, a fucking challenge if Brendan's ever seen one.

"I thought I was."

"You're holding out on me." He uses his free hand to stroke down Brendan's thighs, the hairs there standing on end from his touch.

"Are you sure you can take it?" Brendan toys, can't stop himself from grinning like sunshines exploding out of him, thinks he must be going mad but damn, he's going to enjoy the insanity.

"Try me."

It would be impolite to refuse.

He does it then, waits till Steven's lips are secured around his cock again and lets go, holds onto the railing of the bed this time and rocks back and forth, fucks himself on the boy's mouth and watches as he takes it all in, has never known lips to be so wet and rough and soft all at once, and Steven's making these _mmmmhmmm_ sounds, enjoying every second and it's killing him, never seen anyone so eager for his dick, wonders when the officers are going to start breaking down the doors from the noises that are coming out of his own mouth.

He could do this until he comes, but it's a battle between wanting Steven's lips around him and what he wants to do to the boy, so much left to explore and discover, hasn't even begun to enjoy that arse of his, the smooth and perfect globes, the heat that he's going to be delving into.

Brendan gives one last thrust and then places his hands around the boy's face, massages his cheeks and releases his mouth from around his cock. Steven looks dazed, lips still partly open, looks like he could have done that all day, and Brendan's laughing inwardly, can't believe that he thought Steven was straight, had imagined him taking a girl down to the park and getting her drunk on cider, fucking her on a bench, and now he's in his cell and he's about to eat the boy's arse out.

"Was that okay?" Steven asks, says it in a way where he _knows_ it was okay, the cheeky git, had Brendan shouting _Oh God_ and _fucking hell _like he was a pubescent teen who'd never had a blow job before.

He answers with a kiss, tastes himself on Steven's tongue, seems to last forever, wasn't joking when he planned to devour the boy and leave nothing behind.

"I promised you something." He grazes his teeth against Steven's neck and he squirms in Brendan's arms. It's not his fault if the boy looks good enough to eat.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. And I like to keep my promises."

He can see Steven trying to work out exactly what he promised, his mind swims with it, seems to land on it, mixture of trepidation and excitement, expression coy, biting on his lip in the way that makes Brendan crazy, wants to replace Steven's teeth with his own.

"Turn over."

"You'll have to ask nicely."

So the boy is ordering him about now. Interesting.

Brendan dips his head, takes Steven's nipple between his lips and bites down on it.

"Brendan!" He wriggles out of Brendan's hold, doesn't seem to know whether to laugh or scold him.

"That was my version of please, Steven."

"The normal version will do just fine."

He strokes the boy's now red nipple, an apology. "I'm not normal though, am I?"

He says it teasingly but there's something about it, makes Steven lean forward and kiss the tip of Brendan's nose, lies back and looks satisfied like a dozing cat.

"Yes you are." He turns over and at last it's within Brendan's eyesight, all his, eyes can't settle on anything else. At first he smoothes his hands down Steven's back, feels familiar already with its contours after the massage, skin like velvet. It's not what he wants though, not what he's after, thinks he must have a fetish for this part of the anatomy, hands trailing down Steven's arse, so damn pert and soft.

He lies against the boy so that Steven's back is flush with his chest, and whispers into his ear.

"Still want to know what rimming is?"

Steven nods, doesn't look like he trusts himself to speak.

Brendan's greedy for it, used to lie awake at night when he was with Eileen and imagine doing it, loved the way he could make a man scream in pleasure, fucking talented with his tongue. He takes his time, wants to relax Steven and build up his own arousal, if it's possible to be more turned on than he is right now.

He begins by peppering kisses across the boy's arse, the rub of his moustache making Steven sigh appreciatively, looking over his shoulder in fascination like he can barely turn away. He uses his hands, strokes the boy's skin and down his legs, has discovered that despite first appearances Steven's not as twink like as he had assumed, his groin and legs covered by a thick expanse of dark hair.

Brendan has to stop himself from saying something sentimental, _"Is there any part of you that isn't so fucking beautiful?" _settles instead for showing Steven with his lips and fingers, and when he can't take it anymore he parts the boy's arse cheeks and looks at what he's got.

There's hair there, a small trail that has Brendan wondering what it would be like when wet straight from the shower, his fingers moving back and forth against it. He's definitely going to have to put that to the test.

Steven's watching him intently with dark eyes, seems to be marveling at the fact that Brendan _wants_ to look, that he's staring at the boy's arse like he's going to explore every inch of it. _He is._

He feels an intense satisfaction that he's going to be the first person who's ever done this to Steven, that even if he's not the first man who's been inside him then he gets _this_.

"I want you to remember this always. Me doing this to you."

He's coming apart now, can't stop what's spilling out of his mouth, possessive as hell but that's who he is, can't change his nature, like a wild beast that grows more untamable every day, a gnawing hunger inside of him that only sex can ease.

He looks at Steven one more time before he begins licking around his hole, is sure that he can hear the boy hold his breath above him as he moves his tongue on the outer entrance. He roughly pulls Steven up in the bed so his arse is sticking out more, allowing Brendan better access before he works him properly, his initial gentleness giving way to plunging licks.

Now that Steven's arse is more spread open to him he reaches for his own cock, beginning to stroke himself in time with his actions on Steven's hole. The boy is all but disintegrating, even louder than Brendan had first imagined, is biting into his pillow now but the sounds still come through. He's almost unintelligible, can't form coherent sentences but just a series of words instead, _"that's...oh God...my...Bren..." _Brendan would laugh if he wasn't feeling exactly the same, doesn't speak because it would come out with no meaning.

He takes his hand off his dick, wants to jerk himself off but that can wait, he gives his full attention to Steven instead, eats him out mercilessly, his tongue twisting and coiling as much as it'll allow.

Even that's not enough after a while, thinks that it's possible to want someone _too_ much, can't stop himself touching Steven's body, his fingers at the boy's entrance. He takes his tongue away, hears a high pitched whine from Steven, pushy bottom if ever he's met one, then eases the first spit slicked finger in, could watch it disappear into his tight hole forever.

Brendan hadn't even asked if Steven's been fingered before, guesses from his reaction that the answer is somewhere between a yes and a no, probably hurriedly in the past to prepare him, but not like this, never like this, with someone taking their sweet time, in and out slowly at first, then so quickly that Brendan's sure the pillow that Steven's chewing on will come apart, feathers flying around the cell, coating them.

Brendan honestly doesn't know what he likes more, giving or receiving, could do this for hours and not tire of it, watching the pleasure that Steven gets from it, but at the same time he's aching, aching for Steven to do this to him, wants to feel those capable hands on him, watch those long, dexterous fingers working their way inside his arse.

He wants to hear the boy shouting, doesn't want him to be muffled by the pillow anymore. Brendan reaches towards Steven's face and pulls the object away from him, discarding it in the corner, and Steven gets Brendan's hand, pulls it towards him and starts sucking on his fingers, no prompting required. _Fucking hell._ Brendan doesn't try to stop him, thinks that the sound of Steven slurping obscenely equals that of him swearing at what Brendan's doing to him.

Steven bites down on his hand when Brendan inserts another finger alongside the first, but he can take it, likes it so rough that he's had bruises the day after sex, teeth marks scattered around his neck.

Brendan alternates, fucks Steven with his fingers and then takes them out, replacing them with his tongue. He offers his fingers to the boy to lick, causing Steven to blanch and shake his head resolutely.

"That's weird."

First time squeamishness. That'll soon disappear. Brendan will have the boy begging him to let him taste himself. He makes sure that Steven's looking him in the eyes when he licks his own fingers instead, watching as he regards Brendan with a mixture of bafflement and something like awe.

"I want to fuck you."

Steven swallows at Brendan's words, Adam's apple jutting out, and Brendan leans forward to lick against it, becomes familiar with the hardness, the masculinity.

"Do you have a...you know." Condoms aren't easy to get hold of in this place, but luckily for Brendan he knows the right people. He feels a certain amount of glee when he realises that he's going to be fucking Steven with the condom that Walker's given him.

He stands up and gets one out of the drawer, rips it from its foil packet and then puts it on his cock. He fancies a change of scenery so to speak, doesn't feel like fucking Steven on the bed, the mattress so thin that it feels like he's bouncing directly against the springs.

"Come here." Brendan sticks out a single finger, curling it, gesturing for Steven to join him by the wall opposite his bed.

The boy stands, looks a picture with his cock all but pointing to the sky, skinny little legs moving across the floor. This shouldn't be difficult, he looks like he could weigh even less than Eileen when she was pregnant. It's not that Brendan's not a fan of the classic positions - the idea of doing missionary with _this_ man makes his skin feel like it's on fire - but he prefers to be inventive even more, has to be when he's in here on a life sentence, needs to get his kicks somewhere, only thing that changes in this place being how he fucks a guy.

Steven stares at him curiously, his hand brushing against his groin almost unconsciously at first, then deliberately, masturbating openly in front of him, and Brendan tuts, _"I thought you were playing the shy card?" _nothing remotely _shy _about Steven's actions right now.

Steven grins, cheeky and he knows it, is putting on a show with his body and Brendan is the spectator, could lean against the wall and just watch while the boy makes himself come, but there's time for that later. This is about fucking him, he's so ready for it that it's affecting his entire body, coursing through him, has to clear his throat it's so damn croaky.

"Closer."

Steven obeys, walks towards Brendan until he has proper access to him, and in one quick movement he pulls the boy up by his thighs, Steven's arms around his neck and his legs joined around his waist. Brendan turns around and backs him towards the wall so that Steven hits it with a soft _oomph, _and Brendan murmurs "Hold on", thinks he can accommodate Steven's body weight, that this won't take long, not with how they're both feeling.

He kisses Steven, thinks the boy looks apprehensive, has never had someone this big in him before, but Brendan isn't scared, knows how this will go, that they'll be treading this path a million times after this, that soon there won't be a hint of nervousness in Steven's face.

Brendan positions himself at Steven's entrance and gradually pushes in, feels Steven contract around him, eyes widen like saucers, breathing becomes a series of puffs, and Brendan's hands are digging into his thighs, _fuck this is good,_ hasn't had sex in weeks and now he's diving into a tight clean little arse, belongs to a person he actually gives a shit about, and it means more, never thought it would but it does.

Brendan clenches his arse, thrusts into Steven unhurriedly, sets the pace at first, stops for one second just to test the boy's reaction, smiles when Steven rolls his hips and groans, craving more contact and friction. He kisses him while he moves inside him, sloppy and sensual, licks a stripe across Steven's mouth with his tongue.

Steven's neck and chest are flushed, he looks like he's in a drug induced haze, leans his forehead against Brendan's, says_ "Oh God, oh God"_ again and again. Brendan's been with guys who have been vocal before, but this is different, Steven can't seem to keep a single thing inside. When he whispers_ "more" _into Brendan's skin he obliges, jack hammers into him, the boy digging his nails into Brendan's shoulders, hurts in just the right way, and everything's heightened, he can feel _everything_.

He kisses the boy's neck as Steven holds him close, Brendan continuing to move, angles the spot inside Steven that gets him crying out the most and then thrusts into there mercilessly. The wall is damp with the sweat of Steven's back and they're crashing into it repeatedly, banging against it, biting down on each others shoulders for relief.

He's going to come soon, feel of Steven around him too fucking amazing, and he wills the boy to start stroking himself, guides Steven's hand to his cock and he immediately starts pumping it. For one minute before Brendan's orgasm hits nothing outside of these four walls truly exists, he's not a murderer and he's not a victim, he wasn't raped and he wasn't beaten, he's just a man, just another faceless man in a crowd, could be anyone he wants to be.

Steven comes a second before him, explodes over his hand and some of Brendan's stomach while Brendan groans into the boy's shoulder, trying to keep a firm grip around his thighs. He squeezes his eyes shut, wants to make it last and not go back to the reality of where he is and who he is, just prolong the moment for one glorious second longer.

It has to end though, everything has to end, and he gently releases Steven's legs from around him, laying him down onto the floor once more. Steven's panting lightly, goes over to the sink and runs his hands under the faucet, cum washing away with the water. When he turns back to Brendan he's smiling, looks pleased with himself and he should be, Brendan wants to pin a medal to his chest.

Steven's all but prowling over to him now, seems to have forgotten that he's stark naked, or maybe he hasn't and he's _using_ it, knows that Brendan can't keep his eyes off him even now. He cups Brendan's face and anchors him towards him, kisses him softly, once, twice, a third time and then draws back, does one of those loud donkey laughs of his, looks as high as Brendan feels.

"You want to go again?" He's tapping on the bed railing, picking up the pillow and drumming his hands against it, all but skipping around the cell.

"We're not all in our twenties, some of us need time to recharge," Brendan reminds him, but feels fucking elated that Steven wants him as badly as Brendan wants him back.

"Aw, sorry old man." He grins, dodging Brendan when he tries to kick him with his foot, nifty on his feet.

"I'm not old."

"Heading towards your forties now, aren't you?"

Brendan pins him against the wall for that one, easily outmaneuvering Steven. The boy's quick but Brendan's stronger, has had plenty of practice in this place at outsmarting opponents.

"Don't worry," Steven giggles. "I happen to like the older man thing. Sexy." He runs a hand down Brendan's arm, over the large cross tattoo that lies there. "Do you believe in God?"

Brendan raises his eyebrows. "No Steven, I just decided to get a giant cross inked onto my arm for the fun of it."

"Well I don't know, do I? You could have been drunk." He rolls his eyes, doesn't like being teased, but when his lips pout out like that it's so impossible to resist.

"Yes, I believe in God. Cheryl and I were raised as Catholics." He's not even sure if Steven knows the difference, reckons in that pretty little head of his all religions are pretty much lumped together as the same.

"Even after what happened to you?" He asks quietly, and Brendan's smile fades.

"God didn't do that to me, Steven. My father did."

"Yeah, but God didn't stop it either, did he?"

It's not as though he hasn't asked himself these exact questions. When Seamus took him to church he would listen to the sermons, hear about this almighty God who was all loving, all knowing, and Brendan couldn't work out how if that were true, then why wasn't he saving him?

But he grew up, stopped believing in miracles, learned to accept the hand he was dealt.

"What exactly was God meant to do? Strike my dad down with lightning one night while he was lying in bed?"

"I don't know." Steven crosses his arms over his bare chest, shifts from foot to foot. Brendan knows how this goes, that even if the boy's gone through some shit himself he still doesn't know how to handle this, doesn't exactly have a guidebook on how to talk to a man who was raped by his own father.

"Did you feel guilty when you...you know, when you killed him?"

"Steven." It's a warning, a cutting off point.

"We've just slept together," he says, as if that gives him a get out of jail free pass, as if he can have access to Brendan's thoughts, things that he's never told anyone.

That's the easy part though, fucking someone, could do it with his eyes closed, but it's what comes after that hurts, and he's seeing it all again now. The sound of footsteps on the stairs, the opening of his door, Seamus walking over to him in the darkness, the light not being switched on in case it alerted Cheryl's mother or his sister. He can see Seamus unbuckling his trousers, see him climbing on top of him in the bed.

"Brendan, I'm sorry."

Steven's voice enters through the haze, and he's coaxing Brendan until he lies down with him on the bed, pulling the sheet over them, naked skin against his own, Steven's cum still drying on his stomach. He's never been able to turn the memories off like that before, like someone's just flicked a switch and they've been replaced by something wanted, something needed.

He remembers all his protestations, he doesn't do cuddles or spooning, sure as heck doesn't do snuggling, thinks he'd spit out the word if he had to say it, but he gathers Steven in his arms, would be a sin not to, the boy's all his for the taking. He doesn't know how long they've got left before Darren opens the window, it's felt like they've been in here an infinite amount of time.

He has no interest in getting dressed again or of even using his own bed. He wants to make this official, knows that Steven's been living under the protection of his connections with Warren and Ethan so far, but that soon that's not going to be enough, that there are guys in here who would gladly mess with him, screw him up a lot worse than Brendan ever could. _He's_ going to be Steven's protection now, not going to let any of the men lay a finger on him, the only marks that he'll get will be produced here in this cell.

He wants to march up to Walker and tell him to stick his contract up his arse, but he has to be clever about this, doesn't want to piss off a man like him however much he'd loved to. He's not going to shove this thing in his face, knows that's dangerous, but he plans on making the events of today known to him, has to introduce the idea to Walker that he and Steven are sleeping together, otherwise he'll be faced with months of more lewd conversations and snide comments.

No one's going to come between this. When he wants something he'll go to the ends of the earth to keep hold of it, and as Steven lies against his chest he feels the certainty of it. He'll kill anyone who takes this away from him now.


	9. Chapter 9

Ste thinks he must be going crazy.

Every day when he calls Amy to speak to Leah and Lucas she asks him how he is. He's mainly just relieved that she's still speaking to him after the visit, but their phone calls are becoming harder than before, the lies growing more difficult to tell.

He has no idea how he's meant to tell her "I'm actually quite enjoying being locked in a cell, because I'm sharing it with a big muscular Irish guy who I'm also sleeping with. Send hugs and kisses from me to the kids."

It's not as though he doesn't miss the outside world. He never thought he'd long to do something as simple as take a walk again, but he just misses the daylight, waking up and his senses not being assaulted by the sound of doors banging and men swearing and shouting.

But if someone offered him the keys and his freedom right now he's not sure if he'd take it, and that terrifies him. Definite insanity.

He's under no illusions about what's providing him with such a welcome distraction. _Distraction_ being the operative word. He can barely concentrate on anything, forgot how to put his own damn socks on the other day, Brendan doing his annual morning routine of a hundred push ups before breakfast. Unlike before when he'd be wearing a white vest, he was now bare chested, only his boxer shorts covering his modesty. One of the many perks of sleeping with Brendan Brady is that he now feels the need to be half naked in front of Ste. All the time.

Even when he was pissing in the bucket in the corner he seemed to delight in it, holding his cock like it was a prize, and to Ste it was, felt pathetic but he couldn't take his eyes off it, and Brendan was a fucking tease and he knew it, holding the shaft and rubbing over the head when he'd finished, look of triumph in his eyes for being so intensely desirable.

Ste had discovered a whole new side to Brendan since their first night together. He'd known there was a lot more to him then permanently sitting in the corner of the cell scowling and telling Ste to shut up, but he hadn't realised he'd be this _playful_.

A few times when he was doing his evening routine - a hundred sit ups - he'd be wearing nothing, cock dangling between his legs, muscles heaving, light sheen of sweat on his chest. Ste would try to retain some dignity and pretend to find a spot on the wall suddenly fascinating, but his gaze would wander over.

"See anything you like, Steven?"

"So modest, you."

Brendan would chuckle, would stare at Ste shamelessly, lower his voice and say "Come here," and Ste was strongly beginning to suspect that these were the two best words in the English language. He'd walk over to him like he had no control of his own body, like Brendan was his master and he was a puppet, his strings being tightly pulled.

He'd seat himself on Brendan's lap, rub against his groin, give a teasing smile.

"You've been working hard. I think you need a reward."

Brendan would play along, change his expression so it looked just as innocent. "What do you have in mind?"

Ste would take Brendan's dick in his palm, stroke him until he came over Ste's fingers, both of them never breaking eye contact. He'd found that it seemed to be a sort of fetish of Brendan's, that he liked to look at him while Ste was touching him and when he was touching.

Brendan could have been thinking anything outside of the cell and Ste wouldn't have known. His eyes were impenetrable. Whoever had coined the phrase _windows to the soul _clearly hadn't met Brendan. But within this room and these four walls Brendan didn't keep a single thing locked up. If Ste wanted to know what the man thought of him then all he had to do was look at his face, at the desire and the need there, could see every emotion so strongly that it was almost painful, like looking into a too bright light.

On their first night together after they had sex Ste had seen that very emotion flicker across Brendan's face, had watched as his eyes had trailed over to his own bed, seemed to be battling with himself over whether to sleep separately again or share. He wasn't expecting Brendan to start spooning him or asking for his hand in marriage, that wasn't what this was about.

He'd felt like it was up to him to give Brendan the permission he needed, that otherwise he could foresee them becoming distant again after what they'd just shared.

"You're sleeping with me tonight, yeah? It's freezing, I'm not going to be able to stop shaking if I'm on my own."

Just like that Brendan had climbed into his bed, and his own had gone unused ever since.

When Ste wakes up he immediately senses that something's _in_ him, half winces and half pushes back and moans softly against it. It had been a late night, even with lights out before midnight, and Ste was beginning to feel like he was eating the pillow more than he was the prison food, having to chew down on it to stop himself from shouting out.

He'd thought that Brendan had pulled out and binned the condom, but Ste vaguely remembers stopping him, holding him by the arm and telling him to just _"stay here, just for one second." _One second had clearly extended to a matter of hours.

He turns his neck, inadvertently rubbing his nose against Brendan's cheek which is pressed against him, can feel the stubble brushing against his skin.

"Brendan?"

He gets no response, almost doesn't want to wake him he looks so peaceful. Ste settles for a kiss instead, sweet and soft, contrasts with everything they did last night.

Brendan stirs, shuffles the smallest amount and pulls Ste closer. Ste lets himself be drawn towards him, wouldn't even dream of resisting, loves the warmth and the safety and the feel of Brendan's arms around him, still can't believe that Brendan _wants_ him like this.

"Bren," he tries again.

"What?" Brendan says tiredly, still sounds like he's somewhere distant.

"You're still in me."

"What are you going on about, Steven?"

Ste pokes him in the ribs. Brendan has already told him that he talks too much, that _"something needs to shut you up."_

He reckons he's going to have to spell it out in plain letters here, that Brendan's too close to falling back asleep to notice.

"Your dick's still in me."

"Hmmm?" Brendan says idly, then seems to finally realise, opens his eyes and shifts along in the bed, separating them.

Ste almost regrets saying something, feels the loss of the contact acutely.

"I hope it's not stopped working," he teases.

"Why? Like it, do you?" Brendan looks like he's trying to stop himself from smiling.

"It has its uses I suppose," Ste shrugs.

"Oh yeah?" Brendan raises his eyebrows, and in one quick motion he moves on top of Ste, pins his arms onto the bed and gazes down at him, challenge in his eyes. "You seemed to enjoy it last night."

_Last night. _Ste hadn't even been tired, had felt like he had a never ending amount of energy, that he could never imagine a time when he'd get sick of this, Brendan being all over him, all that he could see and feel and taste and touch. They'd moved from the bed to the floor and back again, Brendan switching locations and positions whenever Ste was about to come, like he was getting pleasure in denying him what he wanted most of all, the bastard.

It was hard to resent Brendan though, hard to not all but worship him when he was making Ste feel like this. He was beginning to wonder how he could ever go back to his previous life, back to Friday nights spent in clubs, picking up someone and stumbling over in his drunken haze, making his way to the bathroom for a quick fuck.

Everything with Brendan was exploratory and slow, sometimes so agonizingly slow that it would feel akin to torture, that Brendan was deliberately holding out on him, so that by the time Ste came it felt painful, like his orgasm was being ripped from him.

He'd had to overcome the feeling that he was inadequate, that Brendan couldn't possibly want someone like him, someone who hadn't even known what rimming was. It was easy to forget though, easy to forget that he was younger and smaller, that he didn't have the experience that Brendan did. When Brendan looked at him it was easy to believe that Ste was at the centre of his whole world now.

"It was...okay." Even saying the word feels wrong. Ste can't keep it up, feels the corners of his mouth twitch.

"So you won't be wanting to do it again then?" Brendan releases his grip on Ste's arms, making a move to stand up from the bed.

"Wait! I didn't say that." He laughs, grabs hold of Brendan and brings their mouths together, can hear Brendan making the closest sound to a giggle that he'll probably ever make against Ste's lips.

Ste rolls them over until he's on top, hasn't set the pace or rode Brendan properly yet, and the thought makes him giddy. He reaches for Brendan's cock, plans on giving him a few hard strokes and then guiding him towards his entrance. He doesn't want any fanfare today, just wants them to fuck, wants Brendan deep inside him.

"It's breakfast soon."

"So?" Ste doesn't care, feels reckless.

"I don't want an officer to come in and find us like this."

Ste tries not to feel stung at the brush off, knows that he'd probably be mortified if the door opened and one of the guards saw him naked, that in this place it would only be a matter of time before word spread and Walker found out, the one thing he can't allow to happen.

It's like a cocoon in this cell though, he feels like nothing and no one can get to him, and he feels a pang of undeniable disappointment when Brendan gets out of bed and starts getting dressed.

He has to resist the urge to give Brendan the silent treatment, knows that he's being immature about this, but he feels a stab of humiliation, has to remind himself that to Brendan this is just sex between cellmates, is not even sure if he can call them _friends_.

Ste reaches for his jeans on the floor, covers himself with the sheet, feels suddenly insecure, like the heat of Brendan's eyes on him is too much, carries too much weight. He need not have worried. Brendan's not even looking at him, has his back turned, and this bothers Ste more, wills him to face him.

He blushes when he sees the marks on Brendan's back, half moon indents from his nails scraping the flesh, bites from his teeth. He hasn't even looked at the state of himself yet but feels tender all over, sore and sated.

When they're escorted down to the dining room Ste has to resist the urge to brush his hand against Brendan's as they walk side by side.

This place is definitely getting to him.

* * *

"Did a storm come in the middle of the night, Ste?"

He wonders if it's a trick question.

"Your hair," Ethan continues, when all Ste does is blink. "It's all over the place."

Ste flattens it down. Personal grooming hasn't exactly been high up on his list of priorities in here. "Just because we don't all use hairspray."

Ethan looks like he's walked straight out of an advert for hair waxing and male cosmetics.

"Alright, touchy! Someone woke up on the wrong side of bed this morning."

_Actually, I woke up on exactly the right side. Next to Brendan._

Ste feels like he's physically having to bite his tongue, focuses instead on his cornflakes, a soggy mess in his bowl.

He's aware of Doug's eyes on him, piercing and blue, tries to avoid his gaze but it's near impossible. He's not sure what would prove his guilt more, eye contact or pretending to be otherwise engaged. Either way he's sure he has 'liar' written all over his forehead.

"Walker set you up with one of the officers, did he?" Ethan says with a knowing smirk.

"No."

"Really? Because the last few days, you've been..."

"Been what?" Ste says it with more aggression than necessary, thinks that he must be the worst person in the world to have a secret, that he can't hide a damn thing.

"What he's trying to say, rat boy, is that you've been shagging around with someone."

"Oh great, Warren's here," Ste says acidly, watches as Warren slings his legs around the bench and moves so close to Ethan that he almost knocks him from his seat.

"What did you say?" Warren's threats are like something out of a pantomime, all bared teeth and contorted face, so much deadly enthusiasm that he all but spits.

Ste doesn't fancy his chances. "Nothing."

"Nice love bites. What animal did them?"

_Fuck._ He knew he should have looked in the mirror. He longs for a sudden change of fashion - the polo neck, knitted jumper type.

"I fell over." It sounds pathetic, and Warren laughs loudly and nastily while Ste resists the urge to stab him with a fork.

"That old gem. Nice try. Let me see...was it Walker, or was it Brady?"

"Drop it, Warren." Doug's voice is firm, not a ounce of fear there.

Warren turns to him, is still laughing but Ste can see it's a mask, it's covering something a lot more dangerous underneath.

"Are you trying to get tough, Dougie?"

"Forget it, it doesn't matter." He's speaking through gritted teeth, and the tips of his ears have turned faintly pink. He's not apologising though.

"No, come on. You obviously have something to say. I was just asking rat boy here if Brendan's gone and done what we all knew he would do to a twink like him. Do you have a problem with that?"

_A twink like him. _Ste thinks of everything that Brendan's told him about Vincent, wonders if they were alike, if he's one in a long line of many.

"Warren." Ethan's voice is low, coaxing, more intimate than Ste's ever heard it.

He sees him pulling Warren round to face him, strokes his cheek, kisses him, the first time that Ste's ever seen them like this. It's a shock, looks unnatural and cold, and Ste doesn't understand how Warren can't get that, can't see the immorality of what he's doing here, that even with his eyes closed Ethan looks disgusted.

Ethan's lips linger, and even when they draw apart he keeps a hand on Warren's shoulder, seems to be willing him to keep that position, be as silent as a statue, eyes focused on him and away from Doug.

It works. Warren seems to think with his cock ninety nine percent of the time rather than his head, and he's like a panting dog, moves out from the table within an instant and lifts Ethan up alongside him.

"As fascinating as this little chat is, we've got some more interesting things to do, haven't we Ethan?"

Ethan nods his consent, and now Ste understands that it's possible for a person to truly look green with sickness.

Warren leads him away, looks like he has to steer Ethan or he'd be dead on his feet, would collapse onto the floor.

Ste breathes a sigh of relief when they're gone.

"Thanks Doug -"

"Do you have any idea what I just did for you back there?"

"Yeah -"

"Really? Ethan wouldn't even have had to be like that with Warren if he hadn't been trying to save my arse. I can't believe I'm defending you from what you're doing with Brendan."

"What do you mean? I'm not doing anything with Brendan." His voice screams guilt. No wonder he had difficulty convincing the jury to give him a more lenient sentence. The idea of a poker face is lost on him.

Doug shakes his head, looks ashamed, and Ste feels it sink into him, feels ashamed of _himself_.

"Where did you get all those bites then?"

Ste hasn't worn a scarf in years, not since he was younger and his mum felt the need to pretend that she wasn't completely neglecting him in the dead of winter, but he's sincerely wishing that he could have at least two wrapped around his neck right now, covering the marks which Brendan's left.

"I told Warren -"

"Oh, you fell over? Onto what, a rabid dog? Or headfirst onto Brendan's mouth?"

"Doug, I know you don't like him, but he's different with me."

Doug is banging his spoon into the bowl so vigorously that the contents are going to end up on the ceiling soon.

"That's just one of the games he plays with people. He does it with everyone, Ste - everyone who catches his eye. I knew he'd be like this with you, but I thought I could save you."

Ste feels a twinge of annoyance seeping through. _Save you_. Like he needs to be saved, like he's not capable of looking after himself. He's not a child, he's older than Doug and he could put a wager on him seeing more of the world than he ever has, not just the cookie cutter white picket fences, but the grit and the dirt in between.

He's been trying to hold his tongue about Lynsey but it's in danger of coming out, every hypocritical thing that Doug's preaching, that Ste makes his decisions about his life, no one else.

Doug seems to read his mind.

"Before you say anything about my situation -"

"What, I'm not allowed? So you can sit here and judge me for my choices, but I can't say anything about yours?"

"So it's true then? You and Brendan?"

Ste looks over his shoulder, makes sure that Walker hasn't decided to end their _holiday_ prematurely.

"Yes, it's true," he says in a hushed whisper.

"God, Ste!"

"It's not a big deal." Like he didn't spend time himself debating whether or not he could sleep with a murderer.

"Did you not hear what I said about him bashing his father's head in with a hammer? Did that not sink in?"

It had been all that Ste could think about at first. The image of Brendan slowly ending someone's life, not stopping even when his father had begged and pleaded, when his screams had filled the room, blood spilling out like the Red Sea.

He had imagined Brendan doing it without reason or explanation, that he had done it simply because he _could._

But Brendan had given him something real and concrete that he could hold onto, a way that he could understand. He wonders whether his own reaction would have been any different, if his body was invaded in that way when he was just a child. He thinks the answer is probably a resounding _no_. If Brendan's an animal, then so is he.

Part of him thinks that Doug would understand, but it's not his information to give away. He'd rather be seen as reckless and idiotic than someone whose betrayed Brendan's trust.

Doug sees the determination on his face, the steely resolve.

"I hope you realise what he does with the people he sleeps with. You'll be thrown away for a better model soon."

"You know what, Brendan was right about what he said. You do think you're better than everyone else, don't you? Just because you're not going to be in here forever. It doesn't change what you did - you still killed a girl."

For one moment he thinks that Doug's going to hit him, that they're going to have a brawl right here in the dining room, the other prisoners huddled round them in a circle, chanting _fight fight fight _while he and Doug smash bowls over each others heads and throw cutlery.

Part of him longs for it, wants to dispel some of this angry energy that he has, needs an outlet, and Doug's as good as anyone.

But there are cameras all around him, guards, a judge and jury who can extend his sentence, Amy and the kids back home who are depending on him to not be a complete screw up.

Doug's not Warren though, not Walker or Brendan, and tears of hurt spring into his eyes rather than the outbreak of violence. It cuts Ste worse. He feels like he's just wounded something fragile, kicked it when it's down.

It's not the same guilt that he used to feel when he hit Amy, not even close, but it's something like it, that he had something good and he's turning it into something unrecognisable, turning someone's trust in him into hate.

Doug stands up, looks like he's desperately trying to hide the tears that are forming, brushing them away with the back of his hand, not meeting Ste's eyes. For a second he looks like he's going to say something, and Ste wants to hear it, even if it's _"go to hell", "fuck you",_ even if it's _"I hope you die."_

What's worse is someone walking away and not even glancing back. What's worse is Ste being in a crowded room but feeling completely alone. He doesn't _want_ to be alone anymore, has been alone his whole life and it's got him here.

He dumps his tray, appetite non existent, and tries to follow Doug's path out of the hall, thinks he may manage to catch up with him, but there's too many people in front of him blocking his way, men with frames far bigger than his own, and he feels like a small child in comparison, lost and trying to find his parents.

When he sees no sign of Doug he goes in the direction of his cell, thinks that he must have gone back there, possibly to start creating his very own version of a Ste voodoo doll.

It's quiet in the corridor except for a banging sound, as if a desk is repeatedly being thrown against the wall. It reminds Ste of something, but he has no idea what, moves closer to the sound to try and identify it. Most of the cells are empty, everyone at breakfast.

He walks towards the one that he knows to be Doug's and the noise grows louder. He envisages Doug in his cell, tearing about furniture because of what _he's_ done to him.

When Ste looks through the screen window it suddenly comes to him, what the noise reminds him of. Him and Brendan, their first night together. Their bodies crashing against the wall, so hard that it seemed like they'd fall through the concrete, plaster and wallpaper surrounding them, that the power of their movements was enough to tear down a building.

He knows that the sight of him and Brendan could never be described as _nice. _It was rough and carnal, more than Ste had ever known. He'd never woken up before with bruises on his thighs from someone's grip on him, had never bitten down on someone's skin like he was carving a home there.

But he knows the difference between what he and Brendan do and what he's looking into, knows the difference between biting, shouting out in pleasure, demanding more with your movements and your voice, and rape.

Ste can't look anymore, leans against the wall and away from the window for a moment to gather his breath, feels like he's about to hyperventilate from the sheer brutality.

All doubt about whether he would have killed someone who hurt him the way that Brendan's father did vanishes. There's only one answer.

* * *

Brendan reckons this is the closest to heaven he's ever going to get. Steven's cooking for him, making him something that reminds him of home, back when home actually brought him comfort. He's concentrating hard on the recipe, tip of his tongue between his teeth, forehead creased in a frown.

"Never made an Irish stew before, Steven?"

"I've never made a lasagna before."

"Well chop chop, time's ticking."

"Don't rush me! These things take time." Steven says it with the air of an experienced chef, hand on his hip like he's trying to make Brendan _realise_. He's a natural, better than everyone else in this class put together already.

Tony sees it, regards Steven with a mixture of pride and envy, was all ready to take him aside and make him a kind of pet, show him the ropes and pass on his expertise. Instead he's occupied with another prisoner who's having difficulty chopping an onion, the man beside him refusing because he _"doesn't cry, not for anything."_

Steven passes him a potato. He's about to refuse, tends to sit back on his chair and chew gum while the men around him struggle and try to come up with something half edible, but with Steven smiling at him so expectantly he finds he doesn't want to refuse.

"Do you always manage to convince Tony to make a meal that you want?"

"In one word: Yes."

Steven laughs, looks like he's torn between scolding him and saying congratulations.

Brendan watches the boy's hands as they chop up the food, thinks that there's far better uses for them, has never wanted the class to finish more than he does today.

"Brendan?"

Brendan curses inwardly, recognising that tone. Steven sounds like he's gearing himself up for a lecture, for saying _I don't want to be with you, Brendan. This was a mistake._

"What?"

"How long have you known Warren for?_"_

Not exactly what he was expecting.

"Foxy? A couple of years now. Why?"

"Do you...do you know what he does to Ethan?"

It's impossible to _not_ know. Five minutes in this place and you'll learn the whole story.

"Of course."

"Don't you think we should do something?"

Brendan wants to laugh at the boy's innocence. He's a newbie, he doesn't know the way things work here. You don't question men like Warren.

"Like what? Hold some kind of intervention? Start some sort of campaign? Free Ethan?" He scoffs, wishes he could have Steven's belief for one second that things could be different, but knows that would get him killed, thinks that the expression _hope dies last _should change to _hope dies first_, that it's imperative to a man's survival in here.

"I don't know - just _something_. Brendan -" He leans in closer, breath warm against his face. "I saw them today in Ethan's cell. Warren was raping him."

"Ethan agreed to it."

Steven looks at him incredulously, shakes his head, rejecting his words. "He had no other choice. Doug told me all about their deal."

Douglas fucking Carter, sticking his oar in as usual. Brendan can imagine everything he's said to Steven about him, had seen the Yank storm out of the dining room, looked like he was one step away from bursting into tears.

Douglas still hasn't learnt the codes of this place, or goes out of his way to try and break them. Rule number one: keep your mouth shut. To become a snitch is to become an enemy.

"He either dies or he has to...you know. Do _that_."

He can't say he blames Steven for putting it in those terms. He doesn't particularly want to think about Warren fucking someone either. Not even Walker has ever been in such dire need as to knock on Foxy's door.

"It's just something that happens, Steven."

He expects the boy to just _get_ it, to suddenly come to the same conclusion as Brendan had, that this is the way things will always be, that to try and escape is impossible.

The potatoes lie on the side forgotten. Brendan makes sure he keeps all sharp implements on his side, doesn't want Steven to get any ideas, the way he's looking at him right now.

"I can't believe I'm hearing this. Not from you."

Brendan rounds on him. He doesn't know what Steven expects _him_ to do. He's not Mary bloody Poppins, he can't sing about spoons and sugar and make everything okay, he hasn't got some magical power that he can cripple Warren with.

"What do you mean, _me_? Why am I so much worse than everyone else?"

He sees Silas looking over in their direction out of the corner of his eye, the old git. So fucking satisfied at Brendan's downfall, looks like he's enjoying every second of this, can read the frustration on Brendan's face, his desire to hold onto this, that Steven's not just a piece of trash that he wants to discard.

"After what you went through." There's that look again, that in amongst the anger Steven feels _sorry_ for him.

"It's not the same," Brendan chokes out, suddenly thinks that being surrounded by all this food isn't a good idea, wouldn't eat anything right now if someone paid him.

Seamus had always insisted that Brendan finish everything on his plate, wouldn't be satisfied until he'd licked the damn thing clean. Once they'd been interrupted, Seamus's hot sticky body crawling off from on top of his own, doing up his belt buckle and walking out of the room, leaving Brendan in the dark.

He'd heard Cheryl's mother calling him, had come for dinner trying to control the shaking in his legs. She'd brought home some chicken, and it felt slimy in Brendan's mouth, had slipped uncomfortably down his throat. There had been so much of it, too much, and Seamus had sat at the table with him until he'd had all of it. For years he'd had no real appetite at all, had looked at food and seen something bloody and rotten.

"I'm not trying to say..." Steven looks defensive now, apologetic. "I know it's not. But Ethan's still being raped, like you were. You should have seen them." Steven looks like he's recalling the memory, is distant and silent for a moment like he's somewhere far away. "Seeing it like that, it made it more real. Before I could just pretend that it wasn't happening."

"That's what you're going to continue to do." He says it with all the conviction he can muster, _needs_ Steven to hear the message loud and clear. He's not going to allow the boy to get involved in this, wants him as far away from Warren as possible.

He hadn't realised the true extent of Steven's stubbornness, that when Brendan says _no_ he hears _yes_.

"What if someone had had the chance to save you, eh? It could have changed your whole life. You might not have even been in this place."

Brendan laughs, high and manic, ignores the way that Steven's looking at him like he's even more nuts than he'd first presumed, ignores the triumph growing in Silas's eyes, ignores the slightly alarmed expression on Tony's face, mouth gawping open.

He wants to tell Steven that there was more than _someone_, that he feels like his whole life is spent trying to block out who could have saved him, otherwise he'd kill them too, he'd break out of this prison right now and do what he did to Seamus. They're just as bad in his eyes, just as guilty because they did nothing, knew exactly what was going on and yet they created a prison for him to dwell in long before he was locked up in this one.

But he was never meant to tell the boy about the abuse, and to say more now would be making it more real, would make Steven involved, would muddy him with the same filth.

"I'm not helping him," he says simply, as if it _is_ that simple, as though he hasn't imagined a thousand times what he would do to Warren if he could.

He goes back to chopping the potatoes, slices them open roughly, narrowly avoids stabbing the knife into his skin, wonders if he'd feel a kind of relief if he did.

He can feel Steven's eyes on him. Even if the rest of the class have resumed their movements he hasn't, and the air seems filled with the boy's disbelief and his judgement. Brendan feels like he's spent more time arguing with Steven than fucking him, and the ratio doesn't sit right with him, isn't used to a boy he's with not being compliant. He'd never been like this with Macca or Vincent. The arguments had come afterwards when he'd ended things, not _during_.

Steven's passion extends to every area of his life, and it's an adjustment. Brendan's reaction would be to forget the entire thing, to intimidate the boy until he moved cells and Brendan was put with someone new, preferably a gangly, young, impressionable someone.

His hands seem to act of their own accord when they reach towards Steven, brushes his own against the boy's on the counter, the lightest of touches but it's enough to get him moving closer towards Brendan, some of the coldness evaporating. It's the closest thing he gets to a _sorry_.

"Everything okay over here, gentleman?" Tony's eyeing them warily, looks like he's preparing himself to break up a fight.

"Just chopping some potatoes, Anthony," Brendan drawls, tries to keep the casualness in his voice.

Tony looks at Steven, and it's the confirmation that Brendan's the big bad wolf here, that it's the boy who needs protecting from him, as if he didn't already know that. It's not the fact that Steven's smaller and younger than him, it's Brendan's _crime_, it's that even with the less judgmental of staff he's still a psychopath.

Steven smiles at him, _Brendan's not going to kill me, move along, nothing to see here._

When Tony walks past them Steven reaches for Brendan's hand under the table. He doesn't do hand holding, but Brendan's starting to realise that there are a lot of rules he's breaking for this boy.

"I'm sorry. It's just been a shit day."

"It's barely even noon."

"Don't remind me. Can't we just...I don't know." Steven's smiling, linking their hands together and swinging them like they're in a playground. "Go to bed for the rest of the day? Forget everything else?"

Jesus, the boy may as well be a mind reader.

"That sounds...acceptable."

_Acceptable_. As though he hasn't fantasied about it since the moment he rolled out of bed.

He doesn't fool Steven, can't hide his eagerness from the boy. A single finger is tracing his hand now, moving softly up and down, bringing goosebumps to his skin, Steven's eyes drawn to Brendan's lips, can barely look away.

"Good. I just want to forget about Doug, and -"

Douglas. He knew it.

"What's he done now? Acting fucking high and mighty again, is he?"

"No, it was my fault."

"Want me to get him for you, Steven?"

Steven laughs, thinks he's joking. Maybe not a complete mind reader then, and Brendan's partly grateful, thinks that if the boy could see his thoughts then he'd run a million miles, never look at him in that way again.

"Don't worry, I think I can deal with it." Still doesn't catch on to the seriousness of Brendan's tone, that he wouldn't particularly mind if the Yank was six feet under where he could no longer spread his stories.

Steven doesn't know exactly what he's capable of, that he's a man of his word and when he gets an idea in his head it grows, that sometimes there are no limits.

The next day, Warren Fox is beaten up in his cell, and everything changes again.


	10. Chapter 10

"_Did you hear what happened?"_

"_With Warren?"_

"_Jumped in his cell. He's in the hospital now. Apparently his face is smashed up, he couldn't even walk, had to be carried away in a stretcher."_

"_Had to have eight stitches from what I heard."_

"_Holy shit. Did anyone see who did it?"_

"_No idea. They're waiting for him to wake up and say who it was."_

The noise buzzes in Brendan's ears, sounds loud and invasive, feels like he's back in school and the rumour mill is spreading, except instead of who's dating who the topic of conversation is now who made who unconscious.

He feels in a trance, walks back to his cell until he's on his bed again. The coldness in here is usually all encompassing, makes him shiver all over until he has to get under the sheet to try and get warm, but today it's welcoming.

The last thing he needs to be doing is breaking out into a sweat in the middle of the dining room, not when there's an investigation taking place, when Tony's rounding up the officers to prime everyone for any and all information.

"Your bedtime already, Brady?"

Brendan sighs, had hoped that he wouldn't be dealing with this again, not in here. He'd tried to mark the room out as his and Steven's, tried to make it something other than a _cell_, had lived under the illusion for a few days that it wasn't just somewhere that people could wander in and out of, invading his privacy.

"I thought vampires had to wait to be invited before coming in."

Walker laughs, bares his teeth and _Jesus_, this man truly is a vampire, the closest thing Brendan's ever known to one. He looks delighted, seems to revel in the things that people would be offended by, is acting like Brendan's just sung him happy birthday instead of insulting him.

"I thought you were keeping away for the week?"

A week doesn't seem long enough. A lifetime might just cut it.

"I said I'd stay away from _him_, not from you. Unless you're not going to play nice and tell me to go and wank myself off again?" Walker questions, eyebrows raised in amusement.

"Give me ten minutes, I might just summon up the energy."

He feels suddenly alert though, has propped himself up on the bed, is aware that Steven could walk in at any moment, that he's not sure if Walker could stick to the week long break if he saw the boy. Sex seems to suit Steven, looks more golden and delicious than ever, took all of Brendan's restraint not to spread his body onto one of the tables at breakfast and mount him.

"Funny thing happened."

"Oh yeah?" He steels himself for another martial arts tale, perhaps involving Walker fly kicking someone to death. Hilarious.

"Mmmm. Fascinating really. Turns out Warren's in hospital."

Brendan smiles at Walker, wants to unnerve him, turn on the charm. Walker's kryptonite.

"Poor guy should watch where he's walking. You know these uneven floors, Simon. Guy can easily trip."

"His body was covered in bruises, Brendan."

"Looks like these floors are nastier than we thought, eh?"

Brendan moves off the bed, slings his shirt off and throws it in the corner, starts his morning press ups that he didn't get to complete because Steven's body had been that much more inviting, impossible to pass up.

It's the momentary distraction that Walker needs and he follows Brendan with his eyes, watches as his muscles contract and relax, his back moving down towards the floor and then up again, has mastered this art without having to pause.

He's wise to Brendan's games though, has known him too long to be blindsided by his attempts at seduction.

"How did you do it, then? Without him seeing you?"

Brendan pretends to concentrate on the exercise while his mind works furiously, has to be careful about this, can't let a single part of his guilt slip out and act as a noose around his neck.

"You automatically assume it's me, Simon? That stings."

"Don't play with me. There's only two people in this place who could have got the upper hand over Warren like that, and I was masturbating in my room while thinking of your young cellmate. Only leaves one suspect, doesn't it?"

Brendan tries not to rise to the comment about Steven, starts counting the press ups in his head, _twenty_ and _twenty one_ and _twenty two _and_ I'm going to going to fucking kill him _and_ twenty four._

"You clearly made sure that Warren didn't see you. You're not an idiot. Hit him so hard you knocked him out with the first punch, did you?"

"Warren's a twisted guy. Wouldn't be surprised if he beat himself up just so he could have the chance of getting some morphine in his system."

"If Warren wants drugs there's plenty of people he could go to. There's no motive there."

Brendan scoffs, increases the pace of his press ups, muscles on fire. "_Motive_. What is this, a murder investigation?"

"You tell me. Were you planning on killing him?"

Brendan pulls himself up, chest heaving, walks over to Walker until they're an inch apart. Most men would step back until Brendan had them pressed against the wall, but Walker _never_ backs down.

"I didn't touch him." He enunciates every word, jabs at Walker's chest with each syllable.

"Lucky for you, I'm not going to press it."

Brendan's curiosity is spiked, knows that Walker will never stop when he wants something, that he makes it his mission to know everything that's going on in this place.

"Why's that then?"

Walker purses his lips together, looks like he's sharing a private joke with himself.

"Now that Warren's in hospital, it means I have the whole cell to myself."

Brendan steps back, feels like the proximity's suddenly too close, feels like he's being laughed at and he hasn't got the faintest idea as to why.

"I know it must be a relief to watch porn in private now, Simon."

Walker laughs, claps his hands together like a seal.

"Thank you."

Two words have never been as uninviting.

"For what?" Brendan says, feels like he's going to regret asking.

"I was worrying about having Ste back to my cell with Fox there. Turns out you've just got rid of the problem."

Brendan feels a tick go off in his cheek, can't fucking control it, body goes twitchy as hell when he's like this, like he's trying to control every muscle just to stop himself from committing another murder. He tells himself he's _not_ that man, he took no pleasure from what he did to Seamus, it was something he _had_ to do, couldn't live and survive knowing he was walking the earth, free to poison the air like he'd been doing his whole life.

But fucking hell is he tempted to break his own moral code and make sure that Walker can't touch what's his. Knows it's irrational as fuck, that he hasn't even known Steven a month, but he _is_ his. He knows the sounds the boy makes when he's asleep, knows how to make his pupils blown wide, lips parted, already feels like he's seen Steven at his best and worst, ready to tear the cell apart because of Amy, laughing and high as a kite as he comes down in Brendan's arms.

"The kid hasn't said yes yet."

"He will."

"You think if he wanted you he wouldn't have to wait a week."

"What's the matter, Brendan? Are you jealous?"

Brendan turns his head sharply, feels like Walker's just shined a light on him, exposed everything he's been trying to hide. He feels more naked now than he ever did when he was fucking him.

"Jealous? Of you and that little runt?"

"Does he remind you of anyone?"

Brendan stiffens, looks away, has never been the first to break eye contact with this man but he knows too much, is trying to dig up skeletons that aren't even in Brendan's closet, they're _here_, they've never left.

"Same age, same build. If you squint they could even be the same person."

"They're not," Brendan says, hates the shake in his voice. "They're _not_."

"Granted the boy's got spirit that Vinnie never had. I'm not used to someone speaking back to me. Wouldn't allow it if he wasn't so goddamn beautiful."

He's about to open his mouth and deny it, but can't say a damn thing. Denying he feels something for the boy comes easily for him, he's not even sure if he _has_ feelings or whether they were buried in his bed when he was eight years old, but he can't say that Steven's not fucking perfect, not now he knows every inch of his body, skin like honeycomb, can't ever get enough of the taste or the smell of him, the way Steven's body fits against his, has never believed that people are born to be together but Steven's making him question everything.

"I'm going to fuck him. Want to watch?"

Brendan breaks out of his reverie, stares at Walker leaning casually against the wall, looks at Brendan like he's trying to work out a puzzle. Brendan's not easily shocked, but Walker's words are like the prison food that he can't easily digest, makes his stomach churn and leaves him feeling emptier than before.

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Ste. When he signs the contract. Do you want to watch?"

Brendan feels sick that in this whole _contract_ Steven seems to be a side note, the entertainment in something bigger, a game between Brendan and Walker that has no end.

"Get out."

Walker shifts off the wall, casual stance gone. He's like a predator when he becomes angry, circles his prey like he's waiting for the right time to pounce. Brendan tenses for a fight, adrenaline pumping round his body, fists clenched, is not afraid of getting blood on his hands, hasn't been for a long time.

Being in this place has made him virtually fearless. Death means nothing to him, thinks that Eileen and the kids would be better off without him, hasn't allowed any of them to come and visit him, hasn't seen them in years. He wants them to remember a version of him that wasn't so entirely degraded, that wasn't splashed on the front of newspapers. Even Cheryl isn't enough to keep him clinging onto life.

Walker _knows_ this, doesn't rise to it like the way he would with the other men. He gets that dangerous look of amusement in his face that hides a multitude of plans and schemes, could be plotting an army of murders for all anyone knows, doesn't give a damn thing away, makes him one of the most feared men in this place. Psychiatrists have given him a range of diagnoses over the years. _Antisocial personality disorder. Psychopathy. _

Manipulative charming bastard is the one that Brendan would choose.

"Tell Ste I said hello."

"Will do," Brendan says, tosses the words in the trash immediately like they're a crumpled piece of paper.

When Walker's gone Brendan smashes his fist into the mirror, is found by Darren with blood pouring from his knuckles. He's taken to the upstairs wing, one of the nurses telling him "That must have hurt, Brendan."

"Not really."

What he really means is "No", but no one would understand that, no one would get that everything stopped truly hurting a long time ago.

* * *

Ste isn't allowed back into the cell, sees it cordoned off with officers around it, tries to force his way through the tape but he's held back by Darren.

His first thought is one of terror, has seen this kind of yellow tape on television, always seems to indicate some kind of murder, and he knows that in this place the odds are slashed, that it's not one in a million.

He can hear someone screaming, wants to tell them to stop, that it's too loud. Darren's telling him to calm down and he can't understand, it can't be _him_.

"Where's Brendan? What's happened - is he -" He can't form the words, doesn't even want to think them.

"Ste, stop struggling. I told you, you can't go back into the cell mate."

"Don't bloody call me mate!" He tries to get past again, knows it's futile but thinks that knowing's better than being kept in the dark like this. "Where's Brendan?" He repeats, longs to hear his footsteps coming up behind him, sound of him chewing gum in his ear, admonishing him.

"_Jesus Steven, what are you getting your knickers in a twist for?"_

News has spread round the whole prison as to what's happened with Warren, that he still hasn't woken up. Ste wonders if this is some kind of hate crime, if one of the men has targeted them, if it's some homophobe and Brendan's in as bad a state as Warren.

"Ste, Brendan's fine. He's in the hospital department, but -"

"The hospital department?" He explodes. "That doesn't sound fine to me!"

"It's not as serious as it sounds."

The words _Brendan_ and _hospital_ are making Ste feel anything but relaxed.

"What happened?"

"I can't tell you that," Darren says uncomfortably.

Ste makes another attempt to lunge out of his hold, is contained with Darren's hands around him firmly.

"Ste! It's confidential, it's nothing to do with you."

"Nothing to do with me?" He's spitting now, is sure that he must look unattractive but he doesn't give a shit. "Brendan is to do with me. You know we're..." he lowers his voice, moves closer to Darren. "You know we're together. Please, he'd want me to know."

Ste is sure he'd get a slap around the face with any other guard, but he's seen the hold that Brendan's got over Darren, knows that it must be strong for him to have convinced him to close the screen window, could have resulted in Brendan killing him for all he knows, Darren being sent to prison himself.

"He...he punched his hand through a mirror."

Ste's not sure whether to feel relieved, is intensely grateful that the damage was self inflicted in a sense, that no one hurt Brendan, that he's not hooked up to a hospital bed with drips and tubes, but wants to get his hands on him right now and tell him how fucking _stupid_ he is.

"Why?"

"I don't know, I'm not a mind reader am I? I'm not sure how Brady thinks. Look Ste, I'm saying this because you're new to the place, and you're young - Brendan's not a guy you want to get involved with."

Ste rolls his eyes, is sick to death of hearing this same spiel, feels like everywhere he goes in this place he's being warned off, everyone around him thinking he's too naive to know what he wants.

"How long is he going to be in hospital?"

"Ste -"

"How long?"

"I'm not sure, we're just getting rid of the glass, I haven't spoken to anyone upstairs yet."

"Then you're no use to me."

He releases himself from Darren's grip, the cell no longer holding his attention, not now he knows that Brendan's not there, that all he's going to see is fragments of a broken mirror. He'd imagined blood on the floors, conjured up something that neither of them could come back from, had never envisioned that Brendan would be the one to hurt himself.

Ste doesn't fool himself that he alone is capable of making Brendan happy, isn't under the illusion that he can make him forget that he's here on a life sentence. But he thought Brendan at least _liked_ being with him, can't fathom why he'd deliberately harm himself when Ste needs him around, needs him safe.

There's something in the air today, something almost like hope, and it's easy to identify it as Ste walks the halls, as he goes back to the dining room to find Doug and Ethan. People around him are talking animately, people who Ste's never usually seen mixing together. Some are speaking in hushed whispers as if they're afraid of saying it out loud, "_Warren Fox was attacked". _Ste had underestimated just how much people had feared and hated him, how now that he's in the hospital there's a sense of freedom amongst the men, that the heavy atmosphere that's always existed has lifted.

Their reaction doesn't prepare him for Ethan's. It doesn't take long for Ste to find him, feels like he identifies him by the sound of the heaving sobs racketing out of him. Ste's never seen a man cry like that, face a beetroot red from emotion, Doug's jumper looking like it's been soaked in the rain from Ethan's face resting against it.

He's not sure whether the tears are from fear or relief at first, wonders whether he should be there at all when he feels like he's trespassing, when Doug doesn't even nod in acknowledgement, just stares at Ste once and then continues to hold Ethan, rocking him ever so slightly.

None of the other men are even paying attention to this display, combination of their begrudging respect for Ethan from his connection with Warren and their own happiness and preoccupation with one of the prison elite almost being put six feet under.

Ste perches on the edge of the table, doesn't know what to say that won't sound insensitive or inadequate.

He settles for a mumbled, "Hi", thinks how pathetic it sounds after everything that's happened.

Ethan looks up at him then, seems to notice his presence for the first time. He brushes his eyes and Ste wants to tell him to stop, that he doesn't have to pull himself together on his account, that he's not going to think any less of him.

"Where have you been? Have you heard the news?"

"Yeah, I've heard." Ste assesses his reaction, isn't sure whether to celebrate that Ethan's momentarily free, or whether there's a single part of him that feels upset about what happened to Warren.

"Sorry about...this." Ethan gestures to his tear stained face and Ste can imagine the policeman in him then, can see how alien this is for him, being the one who's vulnerable.

"Don't worry about it. After what you've been through..."

He doesn't want to say the word, doesn't want to sound out the four letters. He feels like it's infected so much of his life already, can't get it out of his head how different things could have been for Brendan if he'd had a different family, a different father.

"Do you know who did this, Ste?"

"Hurt Warren?" He tries to avoid Doug's eyes, can feel them on him. "No, why would I?"

"There's only two people who could have done this, and you're close to both of them."

He can't help glancing at Doug then, feels like his covers been blown and Ethan knows about Brendan, knows the grief he's bound to get and the further judgements that'll be passed.

"I mean one's your cellmate, and the other one's trying to get into your pants."

Ste tries to disguise his deep exhalation. "What makes you think it's definitely them?"

"No one else would have the guts."

"Sorry, I don't know who did it." Not a complete lie then. Strictly speaking he _doesn't_, he doesn't know a damn thing that's cold hard fact.

"Well if you find out, tell them to watch their back."

Ste wonders if Ethan's joking, laughs it off like it's merely prison slang that amounts to nothing, but they look at him sharply, feels like he's already failed at not being insensitive in the space of five minutes.

"I'm serious, Ste," Ethan continues. "One day Warren's going to get out, and he's not going to let this slide. He won't stop until he kills whoever did this."

"Kills?" Ste squeaks, knows the reality of his situation, isn't lost on him that he's in a fucking prison, but it's still surreal to hear these terms bandied about and for people to actually mean them. He doesn't know how he's meant to go back to Amy telling him she'll kill him if he hasn't hoovered by the time she returns from work.

"I'll...I'll let you know if I find out anything, yeah?" He tries to give a reassuring smile, feels like his lips are stuck together.

He turns to leave, feels like an outsider in this group that he's tried to create, should of known that he doesn't have _friends_, never has, that everything he touches seems to turn rotten.

"Ste? If you find whoever did it...Tell them thanks a fucking lot and I owe them a pint if we ever get out of this place, yeah?" Ethan cracks a grin, the kind of natural smile that Ste hasn't ever seen on him, knows what freedom looks like now.

"Yeah." He finds he returns it, for Ethan's sake if nothing else. "Sure."

He wants to say so much more, that however wrong the hit and run was, Ethan didn't deserve _this_. That he wishes things could have been better for him, wants to tell Doug that he's only doing what he is, that he's sticking by someone who had their dignity and autonomy taken away from him. That sometimes it's not as clear cut as a criminal being a monster, and he's only just starting to realise that.

He wants to say a lot of things, but he's never been good with words, so he says nothing.

* * *

Brendan fucking hates hospitals. He hates the white washed walls, the waiting rooms which always seem to be a breeding ground for depression, hates the way everything seems so damn fragile here.

This isn't like the one he used to go to when he was a kid, is less than half the size, just a wing with a few nurses. Warren's been transferred to a hospital down the road, but for any minor wounds the men are sent to this place.

His hand's wrecked but the bleedings stopped now, a stain of blood on his clothes from when he was too late to mop it up with paper towels.

Seamus used to accompany him to appointments. Brendan would get blackouts as a kid. Some of the nurses at school referred to them as migraines but it was more intense than that, would take over his whole body, such severe pain that he couldn't even walk. Then came the stomach aches, had him leaning over the toilet even when nothing came up. Seamus called him a _"weak child"_, said that Brendan was exaggerating his symptoms, that he was always getting sick, and _"why can't you be more strong, more like a real man Brenda?"_

When he had stayed off from school for the forth consecutive day running with a stomach ache, Cheryl's mother had told him that he was going to the doctor. He'd seen Seamus waiting at the door with the car running outside, asked Cheryl's mum if she could take him, but she'd insisted she was busy, that Brendan was lucky to be offered a lift, that he should thank his father.

After hours of waiting he'd been prodded and poked by a doctor, had done a series of tests and been asked questions, none of which truly meant anything to him, were just a handful of yes or no answers that he spoke nervously, knowing that Seamus was next to him the whole time.

The hospital couldn't find anything wrong with him, said that it was in all likelihood a nervous stomach, that he was perfectly healthy.

When the doctor asked if they had anymore questions, Brendan wondered for one second what it would be like if he walked up to her and told her that the night before his dad had raped him, that he'd been raping him for four years now, and he no longer wished to wake up in the morning, prayed that he'd be taken somewhere else in his sleep, that he'd be run over on his way to school.

Seamus had shaken his head, said_ "No thanks, doctor",_ and guided Brendan out.

"Brendan?" A hand's shaking him, feels like it's far away. They repeat his name, and for a moment he thinks it's _him_, that his dad's somehow here, that Brendan must have made a mistake and not hit him hard enough, that he's _alive_.

But it's not the right accent, not even close. Not the right face. Not the same man.

It's one of the officers, says that he's allowed back downstairs now, that his room's been cleared. He's got a meeting with Tony in the afternoon but until then he has to stay in his cell with close supervision. These people have been around him long enough to know that he's not a self harm or suicide risk, that he didn't punch the mirror because he wanted to hurt himself.

They're worried that he's going to damage something - property. They're more concerned with what he does to one of their fucking desks.

As he walks back to his cell he sees the mens eyes on him. He passes the games room, door wide open, some of the prisoners playing pool. They nod their heads to him, give him a tentative smile, even catches one giving a salute.

"You're popular today, Brady," the escorting officer says, air of suspicion unmistakably present. They're fucking on to him, aren't stupid, knows that there aren't a lot of people in this place who would have the nerve to take on Warren. He's suspect number one.

"What can I say? I'm a people person."

The glass has been swept away when he gets back to the cell, a hole where the mirror used to be. It was a tiny one, could just about make out your face in it, but it's enough for Brendan to shave in to stop a full beard from growing. Looks like he's going to have to make do without until they find a replacement.

He's not sure what he expects to find when he returns, imagines that all of Steven's belongings have gone, that the boy's requested a transfer away from him, that he's finally decided to be smart and give him a wide birth.

Instead he feels like he's come back to a disgruntled wife, is late for dinner and has been out all day while he has responsibilities, feels like he should be shouting out _"honey I'm home."_

Steven's sitting on the bed, looks pissed as hell. Brendan can all but see the steam coming out of his ears.

"Brady's on lockdown, son," the officer tells him. "Now's your chance to get out."

Brendan _wants_ him to leave, knows what's to come and wants to spare himself the hassle, doesn't need a lecture when his hand still hurts like hell.

"I'll stay, thanks."

The officer looks at Steven like he's crazy, might well be to choose to be voluntarily locked in with him. The thing that Brendan's wanted since this morning suddenly doesn't seem so appealing, feels stifling.

The second the door closes Steven springs into life, looks like a man possessed, may be small but is louder than anyone Brendan knows when he wants to be. Not many men could reduce his voice to nothing, make him stumble over his words when he tries to speak.

"What the hell are you playing at?"

"I know you were fond of that mirror, but life moves on."

"Don't you fucking joke with me, Brendan."

Brendan drops the act, knows it's not going to wash here.

"You've just dug yourself a grave, you know." The boy looks panicked, full of actual concern for him alongside the anger, and Brendan's not used to it, doesn't know what to do with it. "I've heard what happened to Warren."

"Looks like he had a nasty accident."

"An accident? How stupid do you think I am?"

Brendan notices how his accent gets more pronounced when he's like this, can just imagine him on the estate when he was growing up, feels a strange protectiveness over that kid that he never even knew.

"Okay, so someone beat him up."

"Not someone. _You_."

Brendan arranges his features into something that looks appalled, has had a lifetime of practice at faking innocence.

"Me? Jesus Steven, do you...you really think that I had something to do with it?"

He hadn't bargained on Steven being so wise to bullshit.

"Bit of a coincidence, isn't it? I tell you that we need to do something about Warren, and the next day he gets taken to hospital."

"Miracles happen everyday, Steven. Have a little faith."

The boy's laughing bitterly now, pacing the cell and looking like he wants to climb the walls in frustration.

"Just tell me the truth."

"I swear, Steven. I didn't do anything to Warren. It wasn't me."

"Stop lying!" He shouts it and Brendan realises then how important this is to him, _needs_ him to be honest, won't accept lies as easily as Cheryl always has.

"I'm not." It doesn't come out as confident as before.

"You said you swear, yeah?"

"Yeah. I give you my word."

"You swear on your kids lives, then? Can you honestly say that you didn't beat him up?"

_Fuck_. Steven knows his Achilles heel, knows that the one thing he can't do is lie, not on his kids lives, isn't exactly a superstitious man but he can't do _that_.

He hesitates, and Steven catches on, jumps on it.

"Oh my God."

Brendan moves towards him then, wants to beg the boy like he's rarely begged for anything before, can't stand the thought that Steven won't look at him the same way he used to.

"What was I supposed to do? You told me we had to do something." He tries to touch Steven but the boy shakes him off.

"Yeah, _we_. You and me, not you! And not this."

"I wasn't going to let you get involved with him." He says it as if it's obvious, seems crystal clear to him, doesn't know how Steven doesn't recognise that. He couldn't let the boy anywhere near Warren, couldn't take that risk of something happening.

Steven shakes his head, stubborn as fuck but beautifully so, Brendan can't take his damn eyes off him even when he's screwed up, even when Steven's looking at him as though he could be a stranger.

"I didn't mean...I didn't want him to get hurt."

It's Brendan's turn to laugh, can't think of a single thing that's funny here but he can't believe the absurdity of the boy, that in his world he thinks there's any other way of getting rid of a problem.

"What would you have had me do, eh? Talk to him nicely? Make him a cup of tea, try and iron things out?"

"I don't know, I just...you didn't have to hurt him that badly."

The blame has shifted now, it's not that Brendan's hurt him, it's that Brendan's hurt him_ too much. _He can see Steven trying to make excuses for him in his mind, trying to conjure up some way that this is forgivable.

"I had to get him out of the way for a while. Give Ethan a chance."

He doesn't even care about the lad, imagines Ethan would have been one of the people who would have arrested Brendan in a second before he came here, would have sniffed around and tried to get him for drugs possession, GBH, anything. He'd never agreed with what Warren did, no one could, fucking barbaric, but he wasn't Superman, it wasn't his job to keep everyone safe.

But it had mattered to Steven, had actually meant something to the boy, and Brendan hadn't been able to get it out of his head that night, images of Ethan merging into one of himself, and he thought about what the boy had said about someone being there to save him. Suddenly it had felt like maybe he could save himself, that eight year old who felt like he was still living inside Brendan, scared and helpless and alone, and he could help _him_.

Once he'd started hitting Warren he hadn't been able to stop, not until he realised that if he kept going, he would kill him.

"Did he see you?"

Brendan shakes his head, had knocked out Warren with one punch.

"That's why you smashed the mirror, isn't it? To hide what you did to your hand. So people would think it was from the injury instead of what you did to him."

_Yes. And also because someone wants to take you away from me, and I can't let that happen._

"Brendan, I don't know about any of this..."

_He's giving up on me._

"No, please." It's not a word that comes easily to him. "I did it for you. I'm not..."

_I'm not a monster._

"Doug...Doug told me that you got moved to another floor when you attacked a guard."

The change of subject disarms Brendan, usually manages to use his notoriety to his advantage, but now it's coming back to kick him in the arse, suddenly doesn't want to be that man.

"It's not what it sounds like."

"Let me guess - another nasty fall?"

Brendan stares down at the floor, hates talking about this so much that he feels uncomfortable in his own skin right now, wants to rip it off.

"He...he called me a name."

He knows how it sounds, echos between them pathetically. He's going to have to say it, is the only way Steven might understand.

"Brenda."

He sees the lack of comprehension on Steven's face.

"It's what my dad used to call me."

"Oh. Right."

"I know it was stupid. I just...I couldn't...stop," he finishes lamely.

"You couldn't stop hurting him?" Steven says softly, sounds like he's actually trying to help here.

Brendan hums in acknowledgment.

"Brendan, if this is another story -"

"It's not, I promise. I regret what happened. But...I'm not a...I'm trying to be a better man. If that's possible."

He's not so sure it is anymore.

"I'm not sure I can be with someone like that. I lived for most of my life with a man who did those kind of things."

"I'm not like your step dad." It comes out in a rush, he _needs_ Steven to hear the truth in it, doesn't usually give a damn what people think of him, but he cares now, hopes he's not too late, because he doesn't know what he'll do.

"Just because you wouldn't hurt me, it doesn't mean that you can hurt everyone else."

He's only just starting to get that, that Steven has morals and integrity, the last thing Brendan ever expected to find in here.

"I'm..." He stumbles over the words, looks at Steven for him to fill in the blanks, wills him with his eyes to understand what he's trying to say.

"Sorry?"

He nods, tries to communicate with the boy that this time he's not lying.

"I understand if you don't want to...you'd be safer with Walker." It's the first time he realises the truth of it, that even if Walker discards him like a toy he could still keep him safer, temper more firmly in check, Brendan weighed down by so much baggage that it physically aches sometimes.

"I should probably run a mile."

"Yeah."

"Amy would kill me if she knew I was doing this."

"Probably literally."

Steven steps towards him, mixture of boldness and coyness on his face, and this could go either way, could be the end or Brendan could be given another lifeline. That's what it feels like, a lifeline, like he's being given a second chance at something.

Steven reaches out, takes Brendan's bloodied hand in his palm, strokes the knuckles for a while while Brendan winches slightly, then leans forward and kisses it, as tenderly as if he were a child.

"I'm going to tell Walker tomorrow."

"What?" Brendan's dazed, can still feel the warm touch of Steven's lips against his hand, feels like it's tingling.

"It's not fair to keep leading him on like this, thinking that something's going to happen."

"What exactly are you going to tell him?" He needs to be sure.

A flicker of a smile crosses Steven's face, and Brendan can't believe that after all he's revealed he's still here, lockdown or no lockdown, that he's not banging on the door demanding for his release.

"That I'm with someone."

It sounds strangely permanent, the closest he's come to having someone for years, perhaps ever, because this time there's no pretending. He doesn't want to say no.

"If you'll still have me," Steven teases.

_Of course I'll still have you, you gorgeous, mad idiot._

He kisses him instead, feels easier than words, always has. Brendan uses his weight to spin the boy, turning him until he's on his bed, lowers him down onto the sheet. Steven's not asking him who's looking this time, knows that they're exposed with the screen window still open but his hands roam between the strands of Brendan's hair, doesn't even hesitate.

Steven's hand goes to Brendan's buckle, roughly undoes it while leaning close, whispers in his ear, _"I'm going to ride you, yeah?"_, speaks it as freely as if they were discussing the weather, the boy hasn't got an ounce of shame left and it's startling, dazzling.

Brendan lies back on the pillow, watches Steven on top of him grinning like a Cheshire cat, his own brain fogged by arousal and one thought.

_He's still here. _


	11. Chapter 11

Ste's beginning to become used to the sounds of Johnny Cash, never thought he'd be a fan of that kind of music, but it's hard not to grow fond of it when it's the soundtrack to Brendan fucking him, drowning out both of their voices, the shouting, the swearing, the sound of the unstable bed creaking with every thrust.

"What's this one?" Ste breathes, lowering himself down on the rock solid Irishman's cock, face creasing ever so slightly from the sudden insertion.

"Folsom prison blues," he answers wryly.

Ste smiles. "Apt."

He's pleased to notice that Brendan's voice sounds just as shaky. It's a thrill that he can have this much of an effect on him.

Ste knows that putting on background music only solves half the problem. The screen window's not blacked out, and Brendan being on lockdown means that a guard's looking in every five minutes, patrolling the corridor, presumably to make sure that he doesn't smash anything else up.

He'd been lying flat on his back on the bed, Brendan opening him up with his long fingers, and Ste had seen one of the officers looking in, had exchanged a glance that was easy to read, _"What do you think you faggots are doing?"_

His initial instinct had been to release himself from Brendan's hold and cover himself up. Brendan had followed his gaze and his words from the day before had come back to Ste, _"__I don't want an officer to come in and find us like this."_

He'd prepared himself for Brendan shaking him off, had waited for his reaction and felt like he was hardly breathing, already felt the familiar pangs of rejection.

He'd laughed loudly in shock when Brendan had sticked his middle finger up at the officer, stared back at Ste with a triumphant smirk, licked a stripe along Ste's lips that told Ste all he needed to know, that Brendan _wanted_ to be seen with him.

Ste had found himself smiling in return at the guard, had been brazen enough to stick his thumb up and follow it with a wave, had watched as the man's eyes became narrowed, had strongly looked like he wanted to open the door and exact some cruel form of revenge, but after a second he resumed patrolling the corridor, chest puffed out like he was trying to prove to himself that he was still a man.

Ste's sure that he's doing this all wrong, that he's meant to be feeling disgusted with himself at the things he wants, that he's not meant to be so calm about all of this. This wasn't what Terry and Pauline taught him. The word _gay_ didn't exist under their roof, it was _queers, poofs, fags, benders. _Terry would kill him if he knew what he was doing now.

He should feel ashamed, he shouldn't feel _happy. _He shouldn't feel that whatever Brendan does to him it's never enough, constantly wants more, desire like he's never felt in his life.

It's difficult not to say something sentimental, seems to be stronger when he's like this, connected to Brendan in every possible way. He's stopped using the pillow to muffle his voice, fears he's close to ripping it, thought of standing in front of one of the staff and saying_ "I'm too vocal during sex, can I have another one?" _the biggest deterrent of all.

It's another first for him, this position. He's never had the luxury of being on top like this with a man, feels trepidation and excitement at the idea of having that kind of power, of possibly doing something wrong, or the sense of achievement at doing something right, still can't fathom how Brendan chose _him_ out of everyone.

Brendan's staring at him like he can _do this, _has complete belief in him, never thought prison would be a place where he'd discover self worth, but this man is giving it to him.

Brendan's still and Ste can imagine it's a first for him too, that it's not an entirely comfortable place for him, giving someone else the reins and waiting for them to act. Ste begins slowly rotating his hips, moves up and down gradually, eyes never leaving Brendan's own, can see the soft smile on the older man's face, surveys Ste like he's watching something special, and he doesn't know what he's done to deserve such undivided worship.

Brendan strokes up his stomach, tweaks a nibble, rubs it softly, fingers exploring downwards, grazing over Ste's tattoo, makes his hand into a clawing gesture as he moves past it. Ste feels so sensitive already, is shivering as a result, every nerve ending feeling like it's standing on end, completely tuned in and hyperaware.

He leans forward, takes Brendan's face in his hands, strokes his cheeks as he kisses him, is still rotating his hips the smallest amount, feels like they're sharing something here that transcends the physical, that Brendan's just bared his soul to him, and idiotic or not Ste's told him that fuck it, he accepts it all, he can deal with what he did to Warren and the officer because he understands it. He understands _him_, has felt wrong and twisted all his life, but here's someone whose come along whose made him feel right, made him feel less alone.

Ste keeps his hands on Brendan's chest, uses it as a type of support as he moves up and down. Brendan looks dazed, looks at him through half lidded eyes like he's the most beautiful, wonderful thing he's ever seen. Ste desperately wants to believe that it's more than just this, more than what he's doing to his body, that Brendan feels what he feels, that there's a comfort in this, that even when their senses are on fire it's with aliveness, there's the certainty at the other end that they won't fall.

Brendan grips onto his hips with the same intensity that he did during their first time together. There's going to be marks there tomorrow but Ste doesn't care, relishes it, is scraping his nails down Brendan's stomach as he moves faster, throws his head back and rides him, just as glorious and freeing as he'd dreamed it would be.

Brendan becomes animalistic when he's like this, sits up so that his chest is almost rubbing against Ste's, licks one of his nipples, takes it between his teeth and makes it hard. Over the music Ste can hear him growling and it spurs him on further, wants to send Brendan over the edge.

Brendan's already finding it difficult to let Ste be in charge, and Ste laughs at the sight of the older man moving his hips underneath him, can't resist being the boss for more than a second. He's not protesting, stills his own rotations and allows Brendan to thrust up from below, knows _exactly_ what he's doing to Ste and it's incredible for someone to be so in control like this, a master of their own body, feels like Brendan's finely tuning Ste's own like it's an instrument.

"Any other man ever make you feel this good, Steven?"

"Shut up," he digs his hands into Brendan's hair harder, trying to reaffirm his words.

"It's a simple question."

"A pervy question." He can't help but smile though. Brendan's not entirely wrong, even if he is being damn cocky. No other man _has_ ever made him feel this good.

"No, a pervy question would be if I have the biggest -"

"Ego? Yeah, I think you do."

It's Brendan's turn to take a swipe at him, bites down on his nipple hard, the type of pain that Ste doesn't want to admit he likes.

"Come on then, what's your real answer?" Brendan leans back and stares at him, and Ste notices the way his lips are slightly red from their kisses, can't even imagine how he must look with the added friction of Brendan's moustache over him.

"To what?" He plays innocent, _was_ innocent up until a few weeks ago when it came to sex.

Brendan continues driving his dick into Ste, is making him half crazy with distraction but he's trying to not let Brendan see the extent of what he's doing to him, wants something resembling modesty to still exist within him. It's not going to last though, it never does. It's hard to pretend that every fibre of his being isn't loving this when he ends up holding Brendan by the arse to encourage him to go faster. Ste doesn't do _reserved_.

"Have you ever had someone this big inside you?" The tip of his tongue sticks out from between his teeth, looks like he's trying to hold in licking his lips like Ste's an all you can eat buffet.

"Loads of times," Ste says, blasé.

Brendan stops, looks like he's frozen in place. "Who?"

Ste frowns, stares away into the distance like he's trying to remember.

"Well there's been Noah, Adam, Paul, David, a really hot French guy called Pierre, you should have seen his -"

"Stop." Brendan says it so loudly that Ste flinches, hasn't heard him raise his voice in anger for a while. He abruptly lifts Ste off him, covers himself with the sheet.

"How many guys have you been with, Steven?"

"You've already asked me that before."

"Well I'm asking again."

"I told you, I don't remember."

"That many?" Brendan turns his face again, puffs out a _"Jesus."_

Ste suddenly feels defensive, is stark naked and having the person he trusted moments ago looking at him like he's some kind of whore.

"Yeah, and so what? You don't have a past too?"

He can only imagine how much Brendan's got around, oozes sexuality from every pore, you don't get _this_ good without practicing.

"I'm ten years older than you."

"Yeah, and so what if I've slept with a few people?" He's starting to wonder if he's saying this for Brendan's benefit or his own, has always felt that his one night stands were necessary but joyless, that after the momentary rush and pleasure he was left in a cold toilet cubicle with a virtual stranger, neither of them even bothering to exchange numbers, because they knew what this was.

"After everything I found out today I don't think you have the right to judge me, do you? I've forgiven you for Warren."

"Forgiven me?" Brendan laughs in that high, manic way that he does, that Ste's starting to recognise is something of a trait of his, a mask for when he's pissed off. "I don't need your forgiveness, I don't need someone to think that they're _above_ me."

"Really? That's not what you were saying earlier. Or does sex make you lose all your brain cells?"

He's beginning to understand that this is what Brendan does, becomes vicious when he feels insecure, has made pushing people away into a kind of sport, that it's unnatural for him to hold onto something. He wonders if Eileen was a calming influence on him, if she watched as the storm brewed and managed to diffuse it because she refused to give into it.

Ste can't _not_ interfere, feels like whatever Brendan's made of he's made of the same, is an explosive combination that he's surprised they're both still alive, that they haven't teared each other to shreds by now.

"If you want to know the truth, I was having you on, alright? And not about me sleeping with other men - because yeah, I did that. And I'm not going to apologise to you, because I don't owe you anything for who I was back then."

Brendan grunts, a small sign at least that part of him is attempting to process this.

"Are you just going to stand there like a statue then? Not say anything?"

Brendan lowers himself back down onto the bed, stares at Ste as if he's asking for his permission, wants to see whether it's safe. Ste begrudgingly moves up to allow him room.

"I'm..."

"Sorry? Seems to be your favourite word, that."

"I'm not as good at all this as you, okay? I don't have the...words." He picks at a loose thread on the bed cover, and Ste's sure he sees him _blushing_. God.

"Neither do I," he says softly, can't understand how Brendan doesn't get that, that if he's clueless than Ste's just the same, doesn't have any easy solutions to this either. "That can't be an excuse though. I'm not just going to let you treat me like crap because you've never been in a..." He stops himself from saying _relationship_ before it's too late.

"I know, I know," Brendan mumbles. "I just...all this...what I'm..."

"Feeling?" Ste hazards a guess, feels like Brendan's relying on him here to fill in the blanks.

"What I'm...feeling," He says it like it's poisonous. "You with other men..."

"Are you jealous?"

Brendan scoffs, laughs at Ste like he's off his head, _of course_ he's not jealous, he doesn't do that emotion, doesn't do any emotion at all.

Except now he does.

"I'm not _not_ jealous," he says after a moment. Ste reckons that's the closest he's ever going to get to admitting it out loud.

"Is this still about Walker? I meant what I said, I'm going to tell him tomorrow."

"He's still going to look at you though, isn't he?"

Ste playfully pushes Brendan's leg, wants him to realise how ridiculous he sounds.

"I can't exactly cut out his eyeballs, can I?"

"Why not? We could do it together. One eyeball each."

Ste's not entirely sure he's joking.

"He's not the only one who's after you, Steven."

Ste feels scared at the thought. He'd meant to be trying to keep his head down, not attracting the attention of half of the prison population. He can't see _why_ they'd like him, wonders if it's because they think they can manipulate him, that he's an easy target.

"I'm surprised Foxy hasn't tried his luck."

"Warren?" He barks out, reliving what he saw in the cell between him and Ethan. "No chance. He hasn't even looked at me like that."

"Trust me, he has. He'd love nothing more than to try and piss me off."

Walker's one thing - Ste believed him when he said that he wants someone who wants him back, that he wouldn't take advantage like that. But Ste knows what Warren's capable of, doesn't want to be anywhere near him.

"You wouldn't let him though, would you?" Ste's ashamed when it comes out as pleading, feels like a little lost boy asking for Brendan's protection.

Brendan stares at him heatedly. When he speaks his voice is low, threatening. "I'm not going to let him touch you. No one's going to touch you."

"Except you," Ste says, feels more reassured by this fact than he should.

Brendan smiles, lines of worry smoothing out across his face. "Except me."

Ste hesitates, wonders for a moment if he should broach the subject again, wants Brendan to know that he meant what he said, that he can't speak to him as if he's done something wrong. Everyone he was with before were outside these prison walls, before he even knew Brendan existed. He usually wouldn't care if someone had that opinion of him, least of all a man, he'd _expect_ it, but Brendan's his exception.

But it feels like he doesn't have to push it with him. There's not the emphasis on apologising, on making him apologise. It's not like it used to be with Amy and Rae, where he felt like he was constantly walking on eggshells.

He crawls over to Brendan's lap, every intention of finishing what they started here, Brendan moving his legs to effortlessly accommodate him.

He kisses him, rough prickle of his moustache against his upper lip, gyrates his arse shamelessly over Brendan's dick to provoke, knows that Brendan's completely aware of it by the way his breath hitches. His hands move from around Ste's back to his arse, cups it, touch surprisingly soft and tender before he pulls it forward so that Ste's seated more securely.

Brendan's dick is trapped between their bodies, positioned just below Ste's arse, and he rolls his hips back, smooth skin rubbing against the hardness of him, eliciting a low hiss from the man's lips.

"You're not just a pretty face, are you Steven?"

"Did you ever doubt me?"

He doesn't wait for the answer, knows how Brendan saw him when he first arrived, but it's so far away from where they are now that it barely even registers, isn't important.

Ste takes Brendan's cock between his hands, positions it over his entrance. He's still wet and loose and it slides in cleanly, braces himself on Brendan's chest and he's moving, watching as the man below him regards him with wonderment, methodically stroking his hand up and down Ste's cock while he rides him, Johnny Cash singing in the background, Ring of Fire now. Ste's not sure whether he's trying to drown out the sounds of the music now with his cries, _the taste of love is sweet,_ far too close to how he's feeling, doesn't want Brendan to sense it in him, is scared he'd run a million miles if he did, that this place wouldn't be enough to contain him.

* * *

It's getting increasingly difficult to get out of bed in the morning. Ste's reluctant to leave Brendan's side, has never had someone so strong holding him like this, makes _him_ feel strong too.

He already feels a flutter of nervousness about what he's got to do today, has tried to keep the fear out of his voice when he talks to Brendan, but the idea of telling Walker that he doesn't want to be with him scares him, would rather put it off and go on existing in this limbo state, drag it out till the last possible minute.

He gets dressed, purposefully doesn't choose the polo top that Walker had said brought out the colour of his eyes, seems to have borrowed most of his flirtatious one liners from a cheesy dating show, watched too many episodes of Blind Date back when he was younger perhaps.

He tries to tiptoe but he sees Brendan stirring on the bed, stretching like a cat in the sun, reaching out to the empty space beside him. Ste smiles at the thought that Brendan immediately wants to touch him, half wants to forget about the task ahead and join him again.

Brendan seems to notice something in his expression, rubs the sleep from his eyes and sits up on the pillow, edge of panic in his voice.

"Something wrong?"

"No, course not." Ste says it as much for himself as for Brendan's sake. "I just thought I'd get ready early, go and find Walker at breakfast."

"You're going to tell him this soon? You've got the rest of the day." He sounds just as anxious as Ste feels.

"I want to get it over with." All he can concentrate on right now is the relief he'll feel when he goes to bed that night, knowing that the contract has been consigned to the past.

He slips on his tracksuit bottoms and a pair of trainers, thinks that maybe this will help to convince Walker that he's nothing special.

"How do I look?" He turns to Brendan, brushing himself down.

"Far too good. Remind me again, the objective is to reject him, yes? Not to make him eat you for breakfast?"

"Shut up," Ste says embarrassedly, can't take the compliment so he fidgets instead.

It's not enough to stop Brendan from staring at him, and fuck, is he trying to undress him with his eyes, or does he just look like that naturally?

"Really - this is doing it for you?" Ste asks, can't help the tinge of amusement pepper his voice. "I didn't think you'd like that whole look." He hadn't had Brendan down as having some sort of peculiar fetish for tracksuits.

"Maybe I like the boy in the tracksuit."

"What if I dressed like Doug?" He challenges, watches as Brendan frowns, looks all but disgusted.

"What, jumpers and cream chinos? Jesus. No fucking thanks."

"Aw, you trying to tell me that I'd still be sleeping alone if I looked like that, then? All heart, you."

Brendan rolls his eyes to the ceiling, knows that Ste's just teasing him but he can't seem to abide by it, acts like his own children were never this playful, that it's something of a shock, testing him.

"Okay, so...maybe you wouldn't be alone," Brendan admits reluctantly. "But don't start getting any ideas."

Ste smiles triumphantly, turns his back to slip on a jacket, mumbles "Definite tracksuit fetish."

When an officer opens the door they go down to the dining room together, and Ste notices how Brendan keeps more to his side this time, as if afraid that Walker's going to jump out from a hiding place at any moment.

When they reach the hall Ste picks up a tray, casting his eyes around the room to find who he's looking for. Walker catches his eye almost immediately, smiles in acknowledgement but looks away again. He's keeping to his side of the bargain then. Maybe this is going to be easier than he thought. Maybe Walker doesn't want him, maybe this is all a game, a passing fancy because he's bored, restless.

Ste notices how Brendan's barely put anything on his plate, a few slices of toast and that's it.

"Aren't you hungry?" The idea seems impossible, insane.

"Maybe my new diet is filling me up," he says suggestively, leans in close to Ste. "Cum diet."

"Brendan!" Ste admonishes, shoves him lightly and scrunches up his face. "That's disgusting."

"You say disgusting, I say...tasty."

"You truly are gross."

"You weren't complaining when I kissed you," Brendan says, eyes sparkling.

"Yeah, that's...different."

"How?"

"Don't know. Give me five minutes and I'll work out how." He turns to Walker, notices that he's already beginning to rise from his seat. "Scratch that, better make it twenty."

Brendan grabs his arm as he goes to leave. "Where are you going?"

Ste motions with his hand. Brendan _knows_ he's got to do this.

"I said you could talk to him in here, not where I can't see you."

"Oh, you _said_ I could? Because I need your permission?"

"Fucking hell Steven, this isn't the time for another argument. You know what I meant - I can't let you get hurt."

Ste softens slightly, believes him. "Just...follow me, yeah? If you're that worried. Wait outside his cell."

"You're not going to his cell. No way."

"He's not going to try anything."

"You barely know him." A vein is bulging on Brendan's forehead now, makes him look even more manic than he already appears.

"He hasn't forced anyone before. You wouldn't be friends with him if he had."

Brendan says nothing, can't deny this.

"_Please_. We agreed that I'd do this."

Brendan looks torn, stares after Walker's retreating form like he's debating whether or not to let Ste follow, to enter into the lions den. After a moment he nods quickly, looks like every muscle in his body is resisting pulling Ste closer, keeping him as far away from Walker as possible.

"I'll be with you the whole time. Shout if you want me to come in."

"I will," Ste agrees hurriedly, strongly hopes that it's not going to come to that.

He follows Walker out, whispers to Brendan to give them some distance so he's not seen, to wait till he's in the cell. He's never gone here before, the combination of Walker and Warren making him give it a wide birth.

"Simon."

He catches him just before he closes the door, registers the look of surprise on the man's face.

"Are you lost? Our week hasn't elapsed."

"Actually, it's about that. I need to talk to you. Alone."

Ste realises that he was foolish to use the word, that all that Walker's got from that sentence is _alone_, looks like a snake whose caught a mouse in its trap.

He opens his door for him, stands back to allow Ste to enter like he's being a gentleman, only he's the sort who doesn't expect a_ thank you_, he expects a blow job.

Ste feels like he can almost sense Brendan watching behind the corner, gets comfort from the fact. He's never had his own personal body guard before, least of all one who looks like _that_.

Ste immediately notices that there's a divide in the cell, as though there's a clear line separating Warren's half from Walker's. One is sparse, barely decorated, just littered with what looks like the barest essentials. The other is adorned with martial arts medals, bed made tidily, looks like every object has been placed around the room with a purpose, that it's all been carefully considered.

Ste feels like he's visiting someone's house for the first time, feels the urge to be polite and say _"I like what you've done with the place."_

"Take a seat, please."

Ste doesn't know _where_ to sit. Even with Warren in the hospital he's still half scared that he's going to jump out at any moment, is too afraid to put that theory to the test. But he can't sit on Walker's bed. The objective is supposed to be to deter him and let him down gently, not give him false hope and make him think that Ste's going to be _in_ that bed soon.

"Don't worry, I'll stand," he leans against the wall, tries to pretend that he doesn't feel incredibly awkward here.

"You look beautiful, Ste."

Ste blinks, doesn't know how to even begin to process that, is used to Walker disarming him with his bluntness by now, but it never stops having an effect.

"Er...thanks," he manages, is sure that his face is saying something else, rejecting the compliment entirely.

"Maybe absence truly does make the heart grow fonder." Walker smiles, looks like he already knows what's going to happen here, and Ste thinks how much simpler it would be to just give into it, to not have to deal with the consequences of saying no. "How have you been, sweetheart?"

"Simon, you've got to stop with all this sweetheart stuff."

"Why, don't you like it?"

"It makes me feel like a girl or something."

Walker moves closer to him, and Ste realises he was incredibly stupid to not take up his offer of a seat, that now there feels like there's little escape, that he's being trapped.

"I'll be fucking you, darling. Technically that makes me in charge, so...forgive me if I see you as the submissive." Walker looks genuinely confused by his reaction, like he's not used to someone arguing the point.

This is Ste's opening, he _knows_ it and he's trembling, wishes that Walker would stop looking at him for a second so he could actually talk, feels so fucking nervous being watched like this.

"About that, I...I'm not going to be doing that. Sleeping with you." It comes out in a rush of words, so frantically that Ste wonders whether he'll be understood at all.

After a moment he knows that Walker's heard everything, face turning to a rock hard statue.

"I'm sorry." He doesn't want to say it, knows he hasn't got a damn thing to be sorry about here, but he feels like he _has_ to, like he's offended the man. "I just don't think it's a good idea."

Walker looks like he's sucking on a very large lemon, one that's lodged in his throat.

"Is this about you being straight again? I thought you'd at least agreed that you've had - what did you call it? _Thoughts_."

The idea seems to intensely amuse Walker, like he's just told a particularly funny joke. Ste wishes he'd never opened his mouth about that now, that he'd lied and said that he was still with Amy.

"If this is about shame, I told you, if you're with me no one will hurt you. I'll kill them if they do."

Perhaps someone else would feel flattered, but Ste strongly wishes that he didn't produce this kind of effect on the men in here.

"It's not about that. Please, just...respect my decision, yeah?"

Walker runs his hands through his hair, looks like he's a moment away from punching the wall in frustration. Ste tries to keep hold of the fact that Brendan's close, that all he has to do is shout and he'll be here.

"There's loads of other guys in here," Ste mumbles, feels like he's trying to soften the blow.

"Have you seen your face?"

"Yeah..." He wonders if it's a serious question.

"What about your arse?" Walker steps up closer, plants his hands either side of Ste against the wall. "Ever taken a close look at that?"

"Funnily enough I don't like to stare at my bum in the mirror all day."

Walker laughs, reaches with a hand and strokes Ste's face, and he can barely move enough to shake him off.

"Your mouth is definitely my favourite though. The things that come out. Tell me baby, what do you sound like in bed?"

Ste reddens, feels so fucking surreal and personal that he's been asked these questions, has barely even thought about what he's been like in bed here because he's been with _Brendan_, but now he feels exposed and increasingly violated.

"Simon, stop."

It almost seems to be some kind of code word, is enough to make Walker draw away, give Ste some breathing space, stop the fluttering of panic that's causing his body to feel on fire, his palms to sweat, his pulse hammering in his throat.

"You haven't even read my contract yet."

Ste hadn't expected there to be an actual agreement on paper, had imagined that Walker had been reading too much of Fifty Shades of Grey and become carried away with the whole notion.

His curiosity is piqued in spite of himself.

"There's an actual contract?"

Ste resists the urge to laugh at the image that forms in his head, a piece of paper with love hearts and "_Ste and Walker forever"_ scribbled in the column. He has to remind himself that this isn't school, and that Walker's more likely to give Ste someone's head on a plate for Valentines Day rather than the card and packet of wine gums that he once received from Amy.

"Of course. I'm serious about these things, Ste. I don't think it's fair for you to refuse my offer when you don't even know the terms."

_Sly bastard. Acting like I've offended him here. _

"So if I see this...contract...and I don't agree with it - then will you accept if I say no?"

"I promise. I could never lie to you."

Ste thinks that's highly debatable, but he's starting to think that it may be the only way he'll truly get out of this, if Walker knows he's got the full picture and Ste still refuses to sleep with him. He can just imagine the man using every chance he can get to remind him of it otherwise. _"You don't know what you're missing" "You never listened to me, sweetheart."_

"Okay then. Lets hear these terms of yours."

Walker looks triumphant, may as well have just been pushed down onto the bed by Ste and been stripped of his clothes.

"But first, please - sit down. You're going to get a cramp being in that position, and you'll be of no use to me then, will you?"

"I'm sure that's why you want me on your bed, Simon. Concern for my welfare."

He joins Walker on his bed nonetheless, tries to keep a good distance between them. Walker stands briefly to get out a stack of papers from his drawers, and Ste can't keep it in, whispers _"fuck" _under his breath, doesn't go unnoticed by the older man, looks over to Ste with a smile.

"I see you've been writing a novel there."

"I like my boys to know what they're getting into."

Ste wonders if Walker truly does this with all the people he likes, that he takes them back to his cell and gets them to sign his papers like he's selling real estate.

"First of all, lets stop all this "I'm straight, I've only ever had passing thoughts" rubbish. You're about as straight as Doug isn't a drug dealing murderer."

Ste's shocked at the mention of his friend, knew that Walker ignored him but had no idea he was this hostile.

"Bi or gay?"

Ste hesitates, hasn't even truly begun to work it out for himself yet, and he doesn't know whether lies or the truth will help him here.

"Bi," he mumbles. "No...I..." He nibbles on his lip, thinks about how he was attracted to Amy and Rae, how he liked being with them, but now that he's with Brendan he can't imagine anything else, of ever going back there. "Gay." It's barely a whisper.

Walker scribbles on the piece of paper. "Right, so that means a threesome with a female officer is out of the question."

Ste's eyes widen, senses that Walker isn't joking.

"You've had sex before, right?"

"Yes," Ste says quietly, feels like he's an idiot for answering. With Brendan it had _excited_ him talking about this. With Walker he feels like he's taking part in some routine questionnaire.

"Part number one," Walker says, looking at his papers.

"There are parts?"

"I'm very thorough." Ste doesn't know how he has the ability to make everything sound suggestive.

Walker lays the papers down on the bed, offers them to Ste to look at.

"This is a list of things that you can agree to let me do to you."

Ste's eyes travel over the paper, sees things like_ insert sex toys, _can't help but laugh when he views the box marked_ give a sensual massage. _

"This is a prison, I don't think you can get things like sex toys..." He trails off when he sees Walker's expression that suggests that he's got his own private collection, enough to set up his own business.

"What do you like, Ste?"

Ste looks at the boxes, trails his hands over _blow jobs, rimming, fingering, _then stops, goes stock still and then turns sharply to the man beside him.

"Wait a second, I'm not - I'm not agreeing to this, you know. I didn't mean..."

"Hypothetically, of course_. If _you agree to the contract. You'll notice that there isn't a list of things you can do to me."

"Why not?"

"Because I like everything."

Ste raises his eyebrows, can't help but ask, hypothetical or not. "Even bottoming?"

"And here I thought you didn't know anything about gay culture," Walker smirks.

Ste doesn't admit that he only heard the term from Brendan.

"I wouldn't object to that. I've tried it before. Not exactly my status quo, but it has its pleasures."

Ste thinks he's insane, has no idea what he's missing out on, that if Walker had had sex with Brendan he wouldn't just be calling it a _pleasure_.

"How big are you?" Walker looks pointedly down at Ste's groin.

"I'm not telling you that!" He immediately covers his crotch.

Walker tuts, sighing dramatically. "Honestly sweetheart, I'm going to find out when I'm sucking on it, there's really no need to be so coy."

Ste doesn't bother to tell him that he won't be, can't summon up the strength to argue.

"Right, so we've established that you like having your dick sucked and your arse eaten and fingered." He says it like he's reeling off a shopping list, doesn't even pay attention to Ste blushing furiously. "Next part." He flips over the paper, and Ste sees the heading, _other partners. _"While you're with me, you won't sleep with anyone else outside of my approval."

"What do you mean, your approval?"

"You're skipping ahead, but if you insist - part three. Threesomes. Ever tried one?"

"No," Ste says, as if it's obvious.

Walker laughs. "Oh darling, you're like a little chicken thats barely spread its wings."

Ste can feel himself pouting at the insult, knows that it always provokes Walker but he's feeling increasingly frustrated at being made to feel small because he never slept with half of Chester.

"Under our terms you can have sex with someone else, but _only_ if it's with me too." He says it firmly, no room for disagreement.

"And what about you? Would you still be able to sleep with other people?"

"I'd be the same as you. Anyone I'm with will be within these four walls, with you present."

Ste can't imagine the flirting coming to an end, the way that Walker constantly tries it on with the officers, fucking them in a quiet, dark corner of the cell. He pities the boys that Walker's had in the past who have believed that they were actually getting into this exclusively with him.

"Part four - positions," he continues. "What do you like?"

"Simon." He has to put a stop to this now, can't reveal anything else that he feels is intensely private, something that he only wants to share with one person now. "I really don't want to do this. This contract - you and me. I'm sorry, but I'm not going to agree to it."

Walker's quiet, rolls the paper in his palm and looks down at the floor.

"I want you."

_You can't have me._

"Please. You once told me that you want someone to want you back, remember? I don't. Find someone else."

He feels the need to be blunt now. Trying to be polite hasn't got him anywhere with the man so far, has led to him revealing what gets him off in bed, has resulted in him feeling like he's made a fool of himself.

"I'm not going to force you, Ste."

He feels a spark of relief at that, thinks that he may actually walk out of here with his body intact.

"It's your decision. I think you're making the wrong one though. Like I said, you haven't even begun to find out what can be done to you. How good sex can be."

Ste wants to tell him_ I know exactly what it's like, I've known since Brendan fucked me. _But it would be game over. He can't.

He stands up to leave, pretends that he hasn't seen the prominent bulge in Walker's trousers. The man's unashamed though, knows and follows him anyway, makes no attempt to cover it.

"At least tell me one thing before you leave."

Ste's sure he's not going to like what it is.

"Go on," he says tentatively.

Walker's eyes look black, like the pupils have all but been swallowed.

"What sound do you make when you come?"

Ste walks out, hears the door clang behind him, motions for a nervously pacing Brendan to follow him until they're both around the corner and out of sight, and falls into his arms.


	12. Chapter 12

Everything had gone better than he'd planned.

Warren's absence from the prison meant that there was a calmness and sense of freedom that hadn't existed in years. His meeting with Tony had amounted to nothing - he'd asked him whether he knew who was involved in the incident, but they both knew that he had nothing to pin on him.

Brendan wasn't some stupid little kid, he'd thought this through, made sure that there was no evidence left behind. He'd worn gloves so there wouldn't be any trace of fingerprints on Warren's body or the door of the cell. It hadn't been too difficult to manipulate an officer into tampering with the CCTV equipment - he'd chosen one of the guys who he knew hated Warren, had come to know the names of their children and wife through years of listening in to conversations and using them to his advantage.

All he'd had to do was threaten him, convince him just like he'd convinced Darren that he had men on the outside who would do his bidding. The footage of Brendan going in and out of Warren's cell had been deleted, destroyed forever.

Tony had called it _convenient_ that the one tape they'd needed had gone missing.

Brendan had called it unfortunate. "Sorry you won't be able to catch the guy, Anthony."

"Don't worry Brendan, we'll catch them. I'll find some other way."

Tony was about as scary as a child dressed in a Tinker Bell costume. Brendan had left the office knowing they had nothing on him.

He knows that that night he'll sleep securely, safe in the knowledge that Steven is all his. For the first time he feels that he has full ownership of the boy, that he no longer has to worry about Walker. He'd had to resist the urge to kick the door of Walker's cell off its hinges when he'd been in there with Steven. The boy was right, he'd never known Walker to force himself on anyone. That wasn't his style. Brendan would rather be dead than sleep with someone who he knew had raped a person.

But it hadn't been enough to stop his mind from furiously working, imagining all the different scenarios that were taking place in that room. He knew how charming Walker could be, knew the kind of hold he had over people, whether they were young like Steven or older like him.

There had been points in his life when he'd been at his lowest ebb, hadn't received visits from Cheryl in weeks because she was on holiday. After Vincent's death it had felt like the world was out to get him, that someone was making him destroy everything in his life, bend it and break it till it barely resembled normality. He'd had no one but Walker, and he hadn't been so out of it to not know that the man was playing on these insecurities, these vulnerabilities.

He'd given into it though, seemed like the only comfort he could have at that period, had only rejected him so many times before at last he'd kissed Walker back, had cuffed him to the bed with the material of a jumper, straddled his legs and fucked him so hard that he'd seen Walker hobbling away afterwards, seemed to think that a fuck wasn't a fuck unless it hurt.

He'd kept out of sight outside Walker's cell, had made sure that he wasn't seen, but hadn't been able to stop himself from leaning against the wall with his ear, had fruitlessly tried to listen in, to here something, anything. The sound of Steven crying, of shouting out like he'd told him to do if he felt in danger.

He was scared to hear it, and he was scared to hear anything different. Of Steven giving in.

It had felt impossible, agonising to have to stand by the door and wait for Steven to come out. When the door had opened suddenly Brendan had scanned the boy's face, urgently checking for any signs of bruises or tears. He'd visibly relaxed once he'd seen that it was clear, albeit pale and shaken.

Steven had walked until they were out of sight, until they were round the corner, although truth be told Brendan could have kissed him right in front of the door with the relief that he felt at simply _seeing_ him again. This wasn't what he'd signed up for, and it was only at Steven's insistence that he'd allowed him to follow Walker to his room. Brendan wanted them in open spaces where he could see them, where he could be sure exactly what was going on.

On their own in the corridor Steven had put his arms around him, and Brendan didn't have it in him to refuse, felt himself give over to it and return the hug, had clung to the boy's back, reached his hands underneath the material of his t-shirt and stroked against his warm skin.

He'd felt the boy breathing against his neck, knew that Steven was surprisingly tough, _surprising_ given the weight of him and his age, but anyone would be intimidated if locked in a room with Walker. He was intense in everything he did, would stare at someone he wanted like they were a fascinating species of insect until you felt trapped in a corner, examined.

"Are you okay?" Brendan had cupped Steven's face in his hands, searched his eyes for any sign that Walker had overstepped the mark.

"Fine." Steven didn't sound so certain.

"He didn't touch you, did he?" The mere idea made Brendan furious, willed Steven to say no because the possibility that anything had been done to him was unbearable.

"No, he didn't lay a hand on me."

Brendan sighed, intensely grateful. Killing Walker hadn't exactly been on his to do list that day.

"It's over, Brendan. The contract...all of it. I didn't sign it, and he let me go."

Brendan wasn't naive enough to think that it truly was _over_, knew Walker far too well to presume that he would accept it that easily. He wouldn't be surprised if Steven's rejection would add further excitement to the challenge, would make him all the more interested.

But there was Steven, kissing him, _choosing_ _him_, and it felt like a victory, like maybe he'd managed to stop this game of Walker's from escalating, had prevented Steven from being a pawn, from Walker doing irreparable damage to the boy.

He'd felt giddy, picked Steven up and swung him round, tips of his toes off the floor, the boy letting out a shocked booming laugh. Brendan kissed him while he was mid air, didn't care that anyone could walk past. He relished the way Steven clung to him, his hands strong and firm, not a hint of the tentativeness that Brendan had once expected from him. He should of given him more credit from the start. He was capable in ways Brendan hadn't even expected, had more talent than he had fantasied.

That night he has Steven on all fours on the bed, has made sure that he's facing away from the door to give them some semblance of privacy, strokes down the boy's back, looks golden like every other part of him, soft underneath Brendan's hands.

Steven's mesmerising, the way he gives into it so willingly, so completely. Brendan struggles to hold back a laugh at the way he bends over, bum all but wiggling in his direction like it's beckoning him to put his dick in him. He has the perfect view of it, the smooth globes facing him, watches as his cock enters Steven, watches it slip into that perfect tight pink hole, is enough to make him want to come sooner than he'd anticipated.

Steven has a rare moment of quiet at first, leans forward on his elbows on the bed, seems overwhelmed, only responds with a kind of distant humming noise when Brendan caresses his stomach, asking _"Are you okay?"_

The boy reaches for his cock, starts stroking it already, signifying to Brendan that he's more than _okay_. He'll definitely have to try this position with Steven again, can feel from the way the boy's legs are shaking that he's overcome by it, that he won't last long.

Brendan concentrates on measured, deep strokes, doesn't take long to make Steven start shouting out, unintelligible noises which sound to the human ear like one long moany breath. At first he reaches for the bedsheets, balls them into fists so hard that Brendan thinks he'll make holes in them.

Then he disarms him, reaches for Brendan's hands which are on Steven's stomach, takes them into his own, intertwining them with his fingers. Brendan's starting to think that the boy has some kind of hand holding fetish, had noticed it in the cooking class when Steven had swung them together like that was something they _did_, like it was a natural occurrence. Brendan can't understand why he hadn't shrugged him off. Why he hadn't wanted to.

When they come Steven lies sprawled on the bed, pants and laughs, his chest flushed pink. Brendan finds it impossible not to return his smile, marvels at the way that Steven's eyes light up too.

He's definitely turning soft in his old age. If he isn't careful he'll be stuck with these thoughts, won't be able to remove them from his mind even when Steven's no longer here.

He pulls Steven deeper into the bed, feels immediately sleepy, the way he always is post orgasm. Maybe it's also the way the boy nestles close to him, has seemed to have found his own spot underneath the crook of Brendan's elbow, likes to fall asleep there, a hand on top of Brendan's chest. He strokes the hair there and Brendan can't keep his eyes off the stark differences between them, the fact that Steven's own chest is so bare and smooth. Despite their contrasts or maybe because of them, they look _right_ together.

Brendan rests underneath the covers, thinks that Steven must have already begun to drift off to sleep. It's only sometime later - an hour or two perhaps - that he feels warm lips on his neck, the slightest hint of stubble and a pair of hairy wrists brushing against his thigh, hands reaching for his cock under the covers. _Jesus_. He's never met someone who wants him this much.

He waits, wants to see what Steven plans on doing to him. The boy disappears, his head under the sheet, and Brendan grows harder from that alone, the idea that he can't see Steven but he can _feel_ him, can feel him touching him everywhere, fingers roaming over Brendan's legs, trailing towards his stomach, lips kissing his belly button. He tries to be patient while the boy reaches his destination.

Steven swipes his hand over the head of Brendan's cock, and Brendan looks at the ceiling, wonders how something like this can possibly happen in the hell that he's in, where nothing good ever grows, where there's no light at all. He should be questioning whether Steven is real at all or if he's conjured him up, but he doesn't want to lose him even if he is a figment of his imagination. He'll accept this alternate world gladly.

Steven puts his lips around him gradually, beginning just at his foreskin at first, slowly easing his mouth over the rest. He's getting more confident at this, now effortlessly opening his mouth wider to take Brendan in all the way. Brendan's wary of saying anything to break the spell, lies back on the pillow and closes his eyes instead, doesn't want to deter the boy in any way.

But fucking hell, the sounds that Steven is making. He sounds like he's eating his last ever meal, is sucking and slurping obscenely, only his feet visible, peeking out from underneath the covers, is leaning back on his heels. Brendan casts the covers aside then, the desire to see what is being done to him becoming too strong.

Steven grins up at him, non verbal way of saying _"I know what you're up to, you pervy bastard",_ and Brendan shrugs, _"I'm only human."_

Steven looks at him while he sucks him, has hooded and dark eyes which reveals every perverse thought he's having, his mouth shining with spit. The usual artificial lights of the prison are off, but he can still make out the boy in the darkness, the outline and contours of him, his hard cock lying against his stomach, trapped between his knees.

He's good at holding out, concentrates on counting in his head. His mind inadvertently strays to the image of Walker's face if he were to peek through the window at this second, make out their bodies in the room, Steven with his beautiful lips around Brendan's cock, doing what Simon so wishes the boy would do to him. He imagines Simon's eyes widening, banging on the door in frustration, knows that he shouldn't want this, that he doesn't truly because of the repercussions, but he can't deny that the idea delights him, that it causes him to laugh, the movement raking through his entire body, causing his legs to spasm.

Steven notices, brings his lips off Brendan's cock, looks almost like he's tearing them away as though they're forever merged now, and stares up at him.

"What are you giggling about?"

He isn't, is he? He doesn't _giggle_.

"You're proper ruining the mood here." Steven pouts, seems to think that Brendan is laughing at _him_.

He sits back up properly, causing Brendan to regret his lapse. If he had known that the boy would stop and sulk he wouldn't have laughed.

"It's nothing."

"It's obviously something. Do I look silly, is that it?"

So fucking insecure. Brendan can't understand it, doesn't see how Steven can't know exactly how he really looks.

He knows he has to calm the boy down, otherwise they'll be sleeping in separate beds. Steven is more of a handful than Eileen had been.

"I'm not laughing at you, kid." He tries to sound reassuring.

"Can you not call me kid?"

He doesn't see what the problem is. That's what he _is_, barely out of his teens.

"My stepdad used to call me that."

Brendan feels like an idiot. The first time an officer had called him Brenda he'd flipped, had punched them before the man could react. He'd called Steven 'kid' dozens of times when they'd first met, and he'd kept calm. He realises the patience that that must have took now. Brendan doesn't think that Steven's stronger than him, he _knows._

"Come here." He lowers his voice, softens his tone, hopes that Steven will realise that he's sorry.

The boy crawls towards him. Suddenly Brendan no longer has the desire for him to return to what he'd been doing. It doesn't feel right, not after what he's just said, and he wants Steven to feel safe in his arms, to replace any thoughts of Terry with this instead.

He says nothing, just strokes up and down Steven's arm, back and forth, back and forth, hoping that Steven will gain comfort from the methodical nature of it.

"I wanted to kill him, you know."

Brendan stills in his movements. He hadn't been expecting that. He waits for Steven to continue.

"Terry. I used to think about it. Like anyone would I guess. But I didn't...I didn't have the guts."

_Like you did. _It hangs in the air between them, unsaid but undeniably present.

"It doesn't take guts, Steven." He needs to be clear about that, can't let Steven think that he's brave or a hero. "I was a coward. If I'd have been strong I would have kept him alive."

Steven turns to him, eyelashes so long and dark that it's a shock.

"No. How could you...I mean after what he did to you. You had no other choice, did you?"

Fuck. The boy actually thinks it was some kind of last resort. Brendan wonders how long it will take before he messes with his head so much that Steven's moral compass becomes permanently skewed.

"I had every other choice. I wasn't trapped in his house anymore. I was free. Married, had kids. I chose to go back, to kill him."

He's terrified that his kids think this too, that they're making excuses for him, filling in the gaps that Brendan's left because he refuses to see them. The idea that Eileen's turned them against him hurts him just as much, but it's preferable to Declan and Paddy thinking that this is what you should do, that this is how you seek revenge.

"Then why did you?" Steven says quietly.

He can't answer that, doesn't know where he'd even begin. Steven's asking him to explore something which he thinks is better off dead, consigned to the past. It's been years since anyone has asked him _why_, since they've actually wanted to know. When he'd never answered the questions had eventually stopped, so that even if he'd wanted to give a reason he no longer felt able to.

"Born to be a killer." Brendan smirks, pretends that this fact doesn't sicken him.

"That's not true," Steven says immediately, and Brendan hates him for having that much belief, knows that he's bound to break it eventually.

He wants to ask him why he's so sure, why he thinks that after knowing him for this short time he can tell that he isn't all bad. Brendan isn't naive enough to think that everyone whose ever been raped goes and kills their attackers, hammers them to death. He chose to give into that monster inside him, so why does Steven think that underneath this apparent affection, even what could pass as intimacy, that he didn't just wake up one day and decide that it would be fun to murder his father?

"Maybe if you talked about what happened..."

The boy's stabbing at the wound again, and he isn't ready to bleed, not even close. He doesn't know why Steven's insistent on this, he wants to talk, thinks that Brendan has all these clever words about what Seamus did to him, thinks that he can be his fucking therapist or counsellor, doesn't understand that to talk would be to remember, and he can't remember, he doesn't _want_ to.

Vincent never asked him. Simon never asked him. Macca never asked him. For the first time in his life someone isn't letting him forget.

"No." He says it gruffly, and it comes out more casually than he expected, wonders if Steven can guess how he feels like a pressure cooker inside, overwhelmed and set to burst, to explode and do far more damage than he had done to the boy's back when he had first arrived.

It wouldn't be something a massage and some cream could heal. Steven hasn't seen him like that yet, the rage unstoppable, is capable of turning someone's belief in him to disgust and fear. It's not what he wants to do, but the boy keeps on _pushing_ _it_, and fucking hell, doesn't he realise that he can't talk about what Seamus did to him?

Steven's tense in his arms then, he can feel it, clearly worried that he's overstepped the mark. Brendan wants to tell him that he overstepped it a long time ago, that from the moment he'd moved into the cell he'd been tearing down the walls, destroying the boundaries that Brendan had put in place. He was persistent, treated Brendan like there was something there that wasn't hollow, broken. Brendan wishes he could see what Steven sees.

Brendan turns around so that they're chest to chest, face to face. He knows he doesn't have much of a hope of sleeping like this. It isn't the most comfortable of positions but it allows him to be close to Steven, to reassure him with his face and eyes and mouth that he doesn't have to be scared of him. He kisses the boy lightly, has found that there's a certain joy to it, that not everything has to be intense and rough and all consuming, that some things can simply _be_, that there's a pleasure in gentleness.

Steven's hands settle around Brendan's back, pulling him in. The boy can't just lie there, he _has_ to touch, to _be_ touched, and Brendan thinks maybe he's finally met someone with the same hunger as him, where desire is never sated.

"Night Bren."

He hears Steven's breathing beginning to settle into a sort of rhythm, knows that the boy has fallen asleep within the space of ten minutes. Brendan smiles.

_Well he would, wouldn't he? I'm giving him quite a work out these days. Must have tired the poor boy out. _

He thinks he'll find it impossible to get to sleep after the images that are now in his mind, expects to be consumed by the same nightmares that have plagued his dreams on and off for years.

It feels like he's barely closed his eyes and it's morning again, and he wakes up curled around Steven, a possessive arm laid around the boy, Steven instinctively pulling him closer when Brendan shifts in the bed.

"Where are you going?" He mumbles, sounding half drunk.

"Got to put my best suit on, Steven."

"What?" He rubs his eyes, looking dazed but still far too flawless for this early.

"Visitors day."

A day he half looks forward to and half dreads. The time when he hears how Cheryl's doing, and the time when he'll have to look his sister in the eye and listen to her talk of appeals and pretend that he didn't murder their father.

"Oh crap. I forgot." He sounds guilty, and Brendan can just imagine his mind wandering to Amy and the kids, the last time he'd seen her and she'd stormed out of the room like a child acting at being an adult.

"It's better that way. Forgetting the visits. You miss them less."

"I don't even know what I'm going to wear. I don't want to look a complete state."

If Amy knows Steven at all then she'll be used to the tracksuits, to the dirty trainers and the creased polo neck tops. He isn't made for suits - Brendan's sure that he'd look fucking amazing in one, that he'd command a whole room effortlessly despite the gawky angles and uncertainty, that everyones eyes would be drawn to him regardless. But it's like this, Steven searching for a tracksuit that is at the very least clean, that Brendan likes him the most. Steven feels the most like _him_.

"Amy's not coming to judge you on your attire, is she?"

"I'm surprised she even agreed to it. Especially after last time."

Brendan can't imagine what Steven would have done if she wasn't coming, thinks that he'd come back from seeing Cheryl to find that the boy had ripped the wallpaper down in frustration, that the sink would be torn out from its holding. Part of him wishes that he wasn't being placed in that position though, in a room and not able to touch Steven, having to watch him hugging and kissing Amy, and he won't be able to reach him, thinks he might go mad from it.

"Just try and keep her there for more than five seconds, yeah?"

Steven pokes his tongue out at him, the cheeky fucker. Brendan reaches out and gives his arse a slap for good measure, can't let the boy be having all the fun here.

"Ouch!" Steven grabs at it, strokes it to try and soothe the sting. "That proper hurt, that!"

"Bet it made you hard, didn't it?" Brendan raises his eyebrows, willing the boy to argue back.

Steven shakes his head, grin shining through despite his best intentions.

"You're such a cocky git, you."

"Well did it?" Brendan asks again, looks at Steven's groin to try and determine if he's hot or cold.

Steven turns around, purposefully throwing him off the trail.

"None of your business." There's warmth in his voice though. Playfulness.

Brendan wants to remind him that he owns that arse, that he's had it every night, had Steven begging for it in a variety of different positions.

He doesn't think coming in his suit would be the best idea though, and Steven's only just found a clean pair of trousers himself.

He puts that idea on hold, nervously straightening out his trousers and shirt, winces when he brushes his knuckles against a button.

"Still hurts?" Steven never misses a beat.

"A bit."

Strange, he'd never felt it yesterday when the boy's hands had linked through his own.

"You are daft, you know."

"I know."

He's starting to regret not having a mirror, could have Steven's cum all over his face for all he knows.

He guesses that he doesn't by Cheryl's reaction, presumes that her usual response - to hug him until he feels like there's no air left in his lungs - means that he at least looks presentable. She looks like she always does, like she's going clubbing, has her curls out in full force, what looks like a new pink dress and a pair of skyscraper heels.

Brendan ignores the catcalls from the other men, has had a lifetime of practice when it comes to his sister and visiting hours.

He tries to hide his hand when he sits down, but Cheryl's quicker than he expected, booms out _"What happened to you?"_ like she wants the whole world to hear.

"Just did something stupid, didn't I? Smashed it through a mirror."

Sometimes the truth is the safest bet.

"Why?"

Good question. He stumbles, doesn't truly know where to begin, decides that there's only one answer that sounds at least sane, if not slightly alarming.

"I got angry."

Cheryl shakes her head at him, continues to be surprised by his behaviour, and he doesn't understand _why_, wants to make her see sense and realise what he's in here for in the first place.

"Are you sure? You didn't get into a fight did you?"

Cheryl still has those first few weeks of his incarceration in her head, thinks that because Brendan was initially pushed around, beaten by Warren and some of his cronies that it means he never toughened up, that he's still letting people have the upper hand. He'd rather her think this than the truth, that he soon evened the score, that he fought back and made sure that no one would ever touch him again.

"You should have seen the other guy. Poor thing was a heap of glass on the floor."

Cheryl sighs, rolls her eyes indulgently. "That's your way of telling me to drop it, right?"

He smiles, not a confirmation but not a denial either.

"How are you and Nate?"

It only took about a year for him to stop saying Cheryl's boyfriend's name reluctantly, for him to realise that he's actually a pretty decent guy, not someone who's going to fuck her up.

"Fine. He said he's going to visit soon."

_Soon_ always tends to amount to next week, next month, next year. Brendan can't blame him. The only time Nate had visited he'd nearly been savaged to death, had to be rescued by several officers when one of the men had started on him, accused Nate of looking at him like he was scum.

Brendan had pointed out to the guy that he was indeed scum, had bared his teeth and brandished his fists when they'd tried to swing a punch at him.

"What about you? How have you been?"

"Fine." Brendan waited for the inevitable feeling that he was lying to come, but found that it didn't appear.

Fuck.

"What?" Cheryl's looking at him inquiringly.

"What?" He directs back at her, suddenly paranoid.

"You looked surprised for a moment there."

He fidgets, eyes traveling to where Steven's sitting with Amy. She looks calmer today, hasn't got that haughty expression that was present last time, is holding the boy's hands and looking like she's giving him a pep talk and it's not the first time. They're a couple in all but the title, and Brendan feels his throat clench, mouth dry.

"Are you going to tell me what this is about then?"

Brendan draws his eyes away reluctantly, wishes he could be invisible and shuffle his seat towards Steven and hear the entire conversation.

"I know you, and only two things make you this happy. Bacon and men."

Brendan laughs, thinks that perhaps Cheryl will drop it if he passes it off as a joke.

"Since when do you think I'm happy?"

"Since you don't look so miserable."

He seriously considers trying to change his expression back to how it used to be to get her to stop.

"And as it's not a weekend and there's no bacon...I'm guessing it's a man. Right?"

Brendan knows she's just been dying to do this, to have the _chat_. He can imagine her planning it in her head for years, dreaming of the day when they'd talk about men together.

"There's no one, Chez."

His sister had never been supposed to find out about that part of his life, but it had been unintentionally introduced to her when Eileen had phoned her up, telling him all about how she'd found Cheryl's big brother in bed with her nephew, in the process of giving him orgasm number two.

"I think it's good that you're moving on after Vincent."

Sometimes he wishes she had an off button.

"I mean it's been a long time since he..." She stops, fiddling with her hands. "But I want you to be careful."

Brendan looks at her sharply, wondering how it's suddenly gone from her being pleased for him to her giving him a warning.

"These boys in here are vulnerable Bren, and..."

_Boys_. He hasn't been able to hide that he has a type from her then.

"If you decide to finish with them, then..."

Jesus. She's already imagining him ending things with Steven, of casting him aside and looking for greener grass.

"Who says I'm going to?"

Cheryl can't meet his eyes. "Don't get angry with me, okay? It's just that's what you usually do. These things aren't forever."

Doesn't she realise that that's all he has, _forever_? That there's an endless expanse of time stretched before him, that he's never going to see her outside this room again.

He knows that this thing with Steven isn't going to last that long, but this time it's not because of _him_, it's because of the boy. There's a time limit on this thing, but if there wasn't, if Steven was a lifer...

"Yeah, I know." He's saying it through gritted teeth, doesn't want to raise his voice at Cheryl, couldn't bear it if she walked out of that door. She's the only person whose stood by him.

"I'm sorry I shouldn't of...I should be concentrating on what matters. Your appeal."

He winces, waits for this moment every time she visits, knows it's coming and dreads it with a burning intensity.

He usually makes do with humming noises, _yes_ and _no_ and _of course Chez, I agree Chez._

He's not sure he has the patience for it today.

"I don't think it's a good idea." It's the first time he's ever spoken the words, and she turns pale, looks like he's just fired a bullet into her chest.

"What do you mean? We need to get you out of here."

He thinks about saying it then,_ I did it, I killed dad. I'm sorry, not for what I did to him but for what it's done to you. _Perhaps the hatred she'd have for him would be worth it, to free them both, to get rid of the years of lies, to finally say something that's real. But he can't risk that chance, can't risk her wanting to understand, of asking him _why_.

"We've been here before. They've got evidence."

"Yeah, because someone set you up." She's beautiful when protesting his innocence, looks like a stubborn and passionate child, eyes sparkling with the promise of tears.

He loves that she cares enough about him to lie to herself like that, to say fuck you to all signs pointing to him being the one who did this, all of this.

He feels the need to soothe her, reaches for her hand like Amy's done with Steven, whispers "Yeah, yeah of course Chez" because any alternative is too difficult, a mountain that he just can't climb.

"It's dad's birthday in a week."

He feels his hands begin to sweat, removes them from Cheryl's. He'd forgotten all about the date, hadn't remembered Seamus's birthday for years before he'd died, so why would he start now? He's in his head every day already. He doesn't need to have an added day to dwell on the past or mourn him.

"I can take something to his grave for you if you want. Flowers or something."

He's not a flowers type of guy, never has been. And not for this. Never for this.

"Don't worry about it." Brendan hopes that that'll be the end of it, but Cheryl's determined, always loved Seamus in a way that would make Brendan feel nauseous. She was his baby girl, would dress her up like a fucking doll, dainty bow on top of her head, a dress that he would make her model for him, twirling round the room.

"You must want to do something for him." She's staring at him like she has no comprehension of why he wouldn't, has always been blind when it comes to their relationship. "He'd be devastated to see you in this place."

She's crying openly now, has been years but she still has the same reaction every time she visits him in prison. It usually comforts him, having to be the strong one, trying to protect her from it all. But Seamus's name is tainting everything. He knows exactly what his father would think about him being here, had always seemed to expect that Brendan would end up behind bars, had told him when he was sixteen that he was_ "no good, never will be."_

She's not stopping.

"He loved you so much."

She says all this like it's words from God that she's reciting, _he loved you, he thought the world of you, I know you had your problems but all parents and children do sometimes, he still adored you._

It's as though she's afraid that if she doesn't say it it won't be true anymore, and Brendan wonders what picture she'd be left with, if for even one moment she'd see the ugly truth, what Brendan's been silently saying all along.

She can't face it, isn't ready, will never be ready, just recites it over and over again,_ "he loved you."_

It seems to happen quicker than lightning. One second he's in his chair and she's talking, the next the chair's been knocked down and Cheryl's staring up at him, looks startled. Brendan's aware of his hands shaking, scans her body for any sign that he's hurt her, and thank God he doesn't think he has, or a dozen guards would be dragging him back to his cell. Instead they've circled around him, and he raises his hands in a defensive gesture, signifying that he's in control here, doesn't even know how he got _out_ of control.

The other men and their visitors are staring at him now. Some are smirking, look like they want to congratulate him for making a scene, for adding some entertainment to their day. Steven's not smiling at him though, looks anxious and confused, and there's barely concealed judgement on Amy's face, looks like all her worst fears about the kind of men Steven would be surrounded by have been confirmed.

Brendan swallows, tries to act the opposite of deranged and violent, is sometimes uncertain whether he even knows what that means anymore, only seems to manage it these days when he's locked in his cell with Steven.

He picks up his chair slowly, attempts to have an air of calmness about him, watches as the officers keep a close eye on him but relax somewhat.

"What just happened?" Cheryl asks.

He'd been hoping she could fill in the blanks.

"Sorry. It was nothing."

"Nothing? You just started shouting at me to shut up."

He hates himself for being capable of saying that to her, has managed to keep this thing contained for his entire life, and it's not going to come out now, he refuses to let it.

"Sorry Chez," he repeats. "You know how this place gets to me."

For a minute he thinks she's not going to give up, but she lets it drop, welcomes the lies again and rejects the truth, and he appreciates this world she lives in, thinks it must look like rainbows and sunshine, taste of candy floss, no room for misery and degradation.

When visitors hours is up he hugs her, holds her close like he used to when they were kids, feels like the only thing he feels sure about is that she'll be back next week, that even if he knows Seamus will fill the conversation like he always does, she's here too, he's not left alone with the memory of his father.

Brendan searches for Steven when they're led back to the main prison, is separated from him, the boy lost within the crowd, however ordered the officers try to make it.

He heads back to the cell, thinks that Steven might have returned there. He's curious about how things went with Amy, wants to delve deeper into what exists between them, can't stop the nagging thought that what if there's still something there, and she's just waiting in the wings for his return. He feels like he's having to watch his back constantly, that the boy's too desirable for his own good, has to fight off the mother of Steven's kids and Simon, is no longer sure what's the bigger threat. Simon has the brains, the strength, but Amy's the one that Steven's going to be returning home to, had his heart in the first place.

When he opens his door he finds that he's not alone, but it's not Steven who's waiting for him.

"Hello Brendan." Walker smiles tightly, leans against the door frame like Brendan's a guest who he's inviting it.

"What do you want?"

"I think it's time we talk about your young cellmate, don't you?"


	13. Chapter 13

Brendan closes the door, wants to be alone for this. This isn't a conversation that anyone should be hearing, least of all Steven. He strongly hopes that he's been distracted by Douglas or Ethan, doesn't want him to come back here and find Brendan towering over Walker's bloodied form, if that's what it takes.

"I see you've already made yourself comfortable." Brendan nods to his bed, the sheets drawn back from where they'd been.

"Looks uncharacteristically tidy for you. Like no one's slept in it for days."

Brendan shrugs, faking nonchalance. "You know me, Simon. I like things ordered."

Walker sits back on the bed, lounges against the wall, hands behind his head, exposing his midriff.

"I had an interesting visit from young Ste yesterday."

"Oh yeah?" Brendan's mind is racing, trying to desperately search for any opportunity that Walker would have had to spot him outside the door. His stomach sinks, wonders whether Walker's known this whole time about him and Steven, and he's been bluffing, has gained the upper hand like he's managed to do so many times in the past.

"Came to me dressed in his tracksuit. Looked adorable really. Cute as a button."

Of all the ways Brendan would describe Steven, _cute as a button _isn't what he'd go for.

"Drop the act and stop pretending that you don't find him fuckable, Brady."

Brendan tenses, doesn't know if he's about to fall into a very large trap, is wary of getting Steven into any danger here too.

"He's...good looking, I suppose."

Golden skin. Eyelashes that it should be impossible for a grown man to possess. A pliable body that is sturdier than he'd anticipated. A laugh which you can hear all the way down the corridor.

Walker laughs at the absurdity of it, because it _is_ absurd that Steven could ever just be _good looking_.

"You ever been tempted to sample him?" He asks casually.

"Been there, done that." He leaves the rest unsaid, but the subtext is clear. _With Vincent._

"Don't tell me you've turned into some kind of nun? That's not your style."

Brendan sits on Steven's bed, tries to act like it's the first time, that he hasn't made it his permanent home.

"That's all behind me. I'm just serving my sentence. I don't need anymore distractions."

He wishes he could live his life by this, that he could truly just keep his head down, stop seeking out these boys, stop looking for these situations that'll only turn messy, if he doesn't screw them up first. After Macca he'd decided not to play that game anymore, that a string of meaningless fucks was preferable, easier. Then a few months into his sentence a boy had arrived, all mop of messy blonde hair and high delicate cheekbones, a tentative smile, and he'd decided that one more couldn't _possibly_ hurt.

After Vincent he hadn't thought that it could get much worse, but he feels so protective of Steven that he's starting to wonder if there's anything he wouldn't do to keep him safe.

"Has Ste told you about our little chat?"

"No."

"Do you want me to tell you?" Walker grins at him, and for one moment Brendan thinks he's truly enjoying this, that he knows it's a form of torture.

He knows Steven would be angry if he found out about this, if he knew that Brendan was curious, that he wants to know exactly what they talked about in that room. He can just imagine the boy giving him a lecture about the importance of trust, and he _does_ trust him, trusts him more than he does most people, but it's still not enough.

"I'm listening, Simon."

Walker settles onto the bed even more, looks like he's getting ready to tell a story round a campfire, marshmallows roasting.

"I read him the terms of the contract. Let him know what he was getting himself into."

"If he had agreed, which he didn't," Brendan reminds him.

"Wow, stab the knife into me that much further why don't you?" Walker grins at him, makes it sound like it's an actual challenge.

"Am I wrong?"

"No," Walker concedes. "But the boy's reaction was...interesting."

Brendan stiffens, wishes now more than ever that he'd insisted on Steven staying in the dining room where he could see them, would have taken the boy's embarrassment at talking about Walker's little arrangement over not knowing what Steven really looked like, if a part of him had wanted it.

He waits to hear more, knows that he doesn't have to press it, that Walker's dying to continue here. Steven appears to be Simon's favourite subject, loves the sound of his name rolling off his tongue.

"He told me what he liked."

Brendan knows they're not talking hobbies and interests here, _knows_ what Steven likes himself, but he wants to hear it from Walker.

"What did he say?"

"Standard stuff, what you'd expect. Nothing earth shattering. Blowjobs. Rimming. Fingering."

Brendan rubs his temple with a finger, feels a headache coming on.

"He told you that?"

He imagines Steven's pretty little mouth forming the words, telling Walker everything he desires.

"Yes. Not quite as innocent as he appears."

It feels like a betrayal, feels like he's just found Steven in Simon's bed, same feelings of fury and jealousy gnawing away at him, wants to grab them both and separate them even though they're not even in the same room. Steven had seemed hesitant, had blushed when Brendan had asked him questions at first, had seemed like the entire experience was completely new to him. He can't comprehend how he could go from that to this, to revealing details about his sex life, _their_ sex life, to someone who wants him as ardently as Walker does.

"Never tried it with more than one person though apparently."

Brendan can feel Walker's eyes burning into him, knows what's running through his head right now, wishes he could shut it off, to stop the thoughts from coming through. It belongs to a world that Brendan no longer feels like he inhabits, doesn't want any part in. He's tried it a few times, Simon and one of the boys he'd choose, seemed like a good idea at first, a way to benefit all of them before he'd realised that there was no joy in it, not when Simon would disregard the lads like they were vermin, when it was about his own needs rather than their own.

Brendan couldn't deny his own blighted past, couldn't pretend that he'd treated Macca or Vincent and everyone who'd come before and after with respect, but he'd at least tried to make sure that they had a good time, that it was about what they wanted rather than purely being an attempt for him to get a good fuck out of it.

"Steven's not like that," Brendan says defensively, knows he shouldn't, but he can't stand here and let Simon say these things, presume that he knows Steven when he hasn't even begun to understand the kind of man he is, the things he can do.

Brendan never wants him to know that side, feels like it's something that only he and Steven share, something that not even the people who the boy calls his _friends_ in here can touch.

"How do you know? Close, are you?" Walker raises his eyebrows, is never not implying something about Brendan and these boys, seems to think that anyone young and impressionable within a mile radius will attract Brendan's attention, like he's drawn to them like they're magnets.

He's not far wrong, they're Brendan's own version of forbidden fruit, except nothing is _forbidden_ to him. He'll do whatever he can to make them his, except with Steven no traps or games were necessary. The boy seemed to land in his lap, not literally unfortunately, not for a little while, but it couldn't have been any more convenient, sharing a cell with someone who tempts him with every movement, every word, thinks that all the boy has to do is breathe and Brendan will still think he's trying to provoke.

He hadn't bargained on Steven wanting him as fervently as Brendan wants him, and it's an adjustment. He doesn't understand _why_.

"He sleeps in the bed next to me, Simon. He gets dressed in the same room as me. He pisses in a bucket right in front of me. I guess you could say we're close, yeah." He says it dryly, is pleased with the level of detachment in his voice, thinks he must be the world's best actor. He sounds for all intents and purposes like Steven is merely there, that he's an unavoidable presence in his life but nothing more, no suggestion of how he seems to _be_ Brendan's life now, occupies his thoughts far more than he would like, like he's been fine tuned into Brendan's brain.

"Seeing as how you two do _everything_ together...does he ever mention me?"

Brendan snorts loudly, stares at Walker like he's waiting for the punch line. Walker seems to understand the ridiculous nature of his own statement, the corners of his lips twitching, but he's not retracting his question, and Brendan senses that behind the teasing he truly needs to know.

"What is this, a playground? Do you want me to pass him a note from you as well? Dear Steven, meet me behind the bike sheds, love from Simon. Kiss fucking kiss."

"Please, give me some credit. My letter would be far more explicit than that."

Brendan's afraid that if he rolls his eyes any further they're going to escape from their sockets.

"No, he doesn't talk about you."_ Except when he's wondering how to let you down gently._

"Shame. Still, I suppose Ste can be shy."

Brendan has to turn around to hide the look on his face, thinks that no one's realised that Steven's not shy quite like he has.

He can't shake the notion that Walker's being too calm about this though, that he should be climbing the walls in frustration, questioning Steven over exactly why he's saying no, not standing here and discussing him like this is what they _do_, like in the past he hasn't moved heaven and hell to get what he wants.

It unnerves him, makes him think that there's something bigger brewing under the surface, that this is just phase one of the plan, and the words_ give up_ don't form part of Walker's vocabulary.

At first he thinks he imagines the hot air that's suddenly on his neck, imagines he's been transported to a different time, a time when it was just him and Steven in here, and the boy had marked a trail of kisses down Brendan's throat and jaw.

He turns sharply when the air becomes something more solid, when he feels the brush of lips against him, a hint of prickly stubble. Walker stares at him sheepishly, licks his lips in a slow and deliberate way, would look ridiculous if he wasn't so experienced at it, does it to capture people in, is a master at seduction and he knows it.

"What are you doing?" Brendan asks pointlessly, _knows_ what this is, that Walker's been hinting at it for days, and he'd have to be blind to have missed the signs.

"Do you know how long it's been for me, Brendan?"

"Enlighten me."

"Two days. Two days without sex."

"I don't know how you're still functioning," Brendan drawls, thinks stabbing himself in the eye might be more relaxing than this. "What happened to the officers at your disposal?"

"Apparently a husband's getting suspicious about the bite marks." Walker grins at him, pleased as fucking punch. "Besides..." He moves towards Brendan, stares at his mouth the whole way there like a moth to a flame. "I don't feel like a woman right now."

Brendan places a hand on Walker's chest to still him. "Maybe I don't feel like anything right now."

Walker laughs. "You? You always feel like something. It's like you were designed to constantly be fucking."

Brendan creates more distance between them, looks out of the screen window, doesn't want Steven returning to find them like this.

"I've changed my ways." He attempts the closest thing to an angelic expression that's within his capacity.

"You'll never change."

Walker says it lightly but it sinks in, feels like it's quicksand and Brendan's drowning in it. It's everything he's trying to fight against, and it has the ability to wound him more than anyone could know.

"I have," he stresses more firmly than is required. "Looks like you'll have to go elsewhere."

Walker's not wrong, _he always feels like something, _but he feels a strange loyalty to Steven, feels like even having this conversation is doing him a disservice. He can't shake the knowledge that Steven talked about sex with Walker, thinks there must be some truth in Walker's words, and the thought that the boy could have got some form of pleasure out of it twists his stomach. But he's trying to trust another man for the first time in his life, and it doesn't come easily.

"Enough with this. I put it down to some kind of early mid life crisis at first, but you seem insistent on keeping it up. You were fine fucking me a few weeks ago. What's changed?"

"Maybe I've broadened my horizons." He puts a new stick of gum in his mouth, permanently keeps a pack in his back pocket, finds it's a lifesaver in drowning out conversations and faking nonchalance. He's been known for his talent of rimming while still having a piece in the corner of his mouth, his form of a party trick.

Walker cocks his head to the side, stares at him curiously. He doesn't get offended. He gets _nosey_, likes to poke at a mystery with a large prying stick.

"To what?"

Brendan sighs, feels like there must be a vein on his forehead about a mile long. "It's an expression."

"People tend to use expressions for a reason. If you want me to put it in layman's terms, I have an itch I can't scratch, and I'd like you to be the one to relieve me."

"Go and rub yourself against a tree or something, Simon. I can't help you." He's wondering if he's going to have to spell it out with letters. Perhaps the staff have some alphabetti spaghetti hoops that he can use for the task.

"I give you a week, tops. There's no way you can go without for that long."

Brendan points at the door then back at Walker, wants to hammer the point home.

"Well, you know where to find me," Walker continues wryly. "Or do you want me to write down my address?"

"I think I'll manage."

He's increasingly aware of the time, that Steven might not be away for much longer.

Walker heads to the door, and Brendan thinks he's at least kept this thing under control, that he can keep it under wraps and no one else will ever have to know.

He takes a sharp intake of breath when Walker pauses by the door, wonders if he's been waiting this entire time to say what he's about to.

"As you're kicking me out, you could at least give me a kiss." _There it is. The catch._

"How does that work?" Brendan laughs in exasperation, can't even begin to understand Simon's strange logic which he thinks results in Brendan's lips on his. He's been trying to defy this thing from happening ever since he stepped into the room, and yet all Simon seems to hear is _keep trying._

"Come on, Brendan." He lays a hand on Brendan's shoulder and it seems to land heavily, its touch warm. "You're denying a dehydrated man water here."

So fucking dramatic.

"I'm not going to kiss you." He has never _just kissed_ Walker, never will be able to. It always leads to more, branches off into this thing that neither of them can control, a constant struggle for dominance. He's got something else that's more important than that now, that's _worth_ more.

"I won't even open my mouth, I promise."

Brendan stares him down, does so until Walker breaks into a giggle, knows that's an outright lie. He can't not open his mouth, has a tongue that's like a hoover.

Brendan nearly jumps out of his skin at the sound of the door opening, was on his guard the whole time they were talking, had always kept an eye on the screen window, but Walker managed to distract him like he always does, and now he springs apart from him, registers Steven's surprised expression.

"Sorry," the boy mumbles, looks between them like he's interrupted something, and Brendan desperately wants to tell him that it's nothing, but his words seem stuck in his throat.

"Hello, sweetheart." Walker smiles at Steven, and Brendan can see how fucking charming it is, how it's a smile that's designed to entice, especially when it's coupled with his terms of endearment and that low, suggestive tone.

Brendan watches Steven carefully, wants to see every flicker of emotion that's crossing his face, to see if he's being reeled in by this. He's briefly satisfied when Steven merely continues to look taken aback, thinks that this is preferable to being in awe of Simon like so many others have previously been.

"I can leave if you want..." It looks like it's the last thing he wants to do.

"No, Simon was leaving."

Simon looks like this is news to him, his eyes sparkling when he faces Brendan, looks like he's caught the two of them in a mouse trap.

Brendan feels poised for something, if not a fight then a confrontation, anything. He can feel it in the air. It's alive with tension, and he's constantly aware that they both want the same thing, that everything is focused on the boy in front of them, and knowing Steven he thinks that he's an annoyance, is in the way, doesn't realise that he's the single most desirable person in this place.

He's relieved when Walker's shoulders dip, seems to release some of the energy he was holding onto. Brendan's hand still feels sore, and even with Steven's kisses it's not in any state to have contact with Simon's body.

"I'll see you later, Brendan." He passes by Steven, doesn't lay a finger on him but he looks like he's trying to contain himself, that he's having to resist reaching out and brushing a hand against the softness of his cheek. "See you soon, darling."

Steven nods, his expression changing when Walker's closed the door behind him. He deflates, shakes his head at Brendan.

"I've told him a million times to stop calling me that."

"He says that to all the boys." Brendan feels like he can't control his tone, sounds vicious to his ears, like he wants to wound Steven, see if it hurts him to know that with Simon he's one of many.

If Steven notices it then it doesn't show. He moves towards Brendan, takes his face in his hands and kisses him before he can even register what's happening, feels like it's at the speed of lightning. He resists for less than a second before his hands find their way around Steven's waist, cups his arse through the material of his trousers, could have him right here and now he wants him that much.

He tries to erase Walker's words through his movements, wonders if he kisses Steven hard and long enough then what happened in here will be replaced by _them_, by the sounds and sights of Steven inside him instead, Steven demanding more from him, begging so beautifully like he's prone to do, coming like he's been dying for a release his whole life.

He walks back until he can feel the bed against his legs, and sits down, Steven immediately climbing into his lap, rub of their groins together. He imagines slow hand jobs, first Steven and then him, pictures his hand around the boy's rock hard dick, watching his eyes droop and his expression grow dazed. There's a rush to fuck him, to have the closest skin to skin contact that he can have, but Brendan knows there's time, wants to forsake it for now with the languid, tactile exploration of each other instead.

He hadn't bargained on the boy being so damn talkative though, knows that Steven rarely seems to shut up, but he's alive with giddiness now, tells him about his visit with Amy, how they'd actually managed to make it through the entire thing this time, that she hadn't looked at him like she wanted to set fire to his rotting carcass.

"That's great, Steven." Brendan mutters it halfheartedly. It's not that he doesn't mean it, _he does_, but it's doing nothing to numb the nagging voice in his head that says that he can't be sure if Steven's entirely his, not after what Walker told him.

"I know she hasn't properly forgiven me yet, but it's a start, isn't it?"

Brendan kisses his neck, the boy wriggling against the feel of his moustache, can't stop mentioning how_ "Amy held my hand" _and "_she smiled at me, she actually smiled at me again, Bren!" _

He seems to be under the impression that Brendan doesn't know a single thing, and that's good, it means he didn't register him watching during the whole visit, hadn't seen him as Amy had smoothed her thumbs over Steven's hands, looked like a fucking couple for all the world to see. His brain feels like it's going to explode from all the shit he's worrying about.

Brendan hitches Steven's trousers up, feels the hair of his legs in his palm and kneads it, can drown out the sound of Steven's words when he's like this, concentrating solely on his body.

The boy changes pace though, and repeats himself several times when Brendan doesn't answer him.

"Brendan? What happened today? With you and your Cheryl?"

Brendan's frustrated as hell that his tactics haven't worked, wonders if he should forgo subtly and flip Steven onto his back instead, thrust his dick inside him and give the boy something to really shout about.

Steven's looking annoyed at him now though. "Are you listening to me?"

"Yes." He gives up, knows that it's futile, and allows Steven to continue to sit on his lap instead, idly stroking the hair at the back of Brendan's neck.

"I was worried about you. You just started screaming at her, and then knocked the chair over." Steven says it quietly, and the awful thought comes to Brendan that the boy's still scared of him, of the way he'll react.

"Just had an argument." He hopes that Steven doesn't see straight through him, realise that he and Cheryl have never had arguments that involve that, that violence and his sister have never existed side by side. Before he was in prison he'd tried everything to separate those worlds, had barely raised his voice in front of her.

"About your dad?"

It feels like a weapon that Steven can use against him now, and it's too much, still too raw. Brendan can't imagine a time when it won't be, thinks that the expression_ it'll get easier_ is a crock of shit, that some horrors can't ever be anything other than painful.

"No." But it's always, always about their dad, has been since they were kids. Cheryl could never understand why Brendan became so sullen around him as a teenager, would accuse him of not making enough of an effort, that _"daddy is trying, so why can't you?" _

Brendan used to wonder if Seamus had planted some kind of chip in Cheryl's brain, couldn't understand how she couldn't see it, how she missed a lifetime of abuse like they hadn't lived under the same roof, that when Cheryl was safely asleep in her bed Brendan was being raped in his.

"You can tell me."

"Jesus, kid." He rises from the bed, realises his mistake a second later, corrects himself. "I mean - Steven." It's awkward, and he doesn't wish to remind Steven of his step dad, but he'd half hoped that everything to do with Seamus would go away when he spoke the words out loud, hadn't imagined that Steven would care enough to keep on bringing him up, a constant reminder of the past.

"I don't need to be counseled by some twenty three year old."

"Why do you do that? Always bring up my age, like just because I'm younger than you my opinion doesn't count as much?"

"I'm not saying -" Except he is. "It's just been a bad day, alright?"

"You seemed happy enough earlier."

How can he explain that he's always happy, as happy as he can ever be, when he's in bed with Steven? That other things pale into significance, that it's everything else that's so difficult.

"Did Simon say something?"

"Oh, it's Simon now, is it?" Brendan mocks, doesn't like the sound of his name on Steven's lips.

"Don't start all that jealousy crap. I'm not the one who was standing all close to him before."

Brendan chuffs a laugh, wrings his hands together furiously, desires nothing more than to be left alone in a room with a punchbag.

"_Me_ and..." He doesn't finish the sentence, wants to give the impression that it's too fucking nonsensical to complete.

"Yes! It looked like I was interrupting something."

Brendan doesn't know whether to be flattered or pissed off at Steven's questioning, sounds like the closest thing to possession that he's heard from the boy. It's thrilling, the idea that he means that much to him, but there's an undercurrent of anger there, and he doesn't want Steven to dig into his past, to discover more about Vincent and Macca, to see what a screw up Brendan is, that he drove a young man right into the arms of a murderer.

He can't look away from the boy's gaze though, from his bright eyes which still blaze with so much hope. Hope for him.

"You weren't. I was glad when you came to be honest. Not for the first time." He lowers his voice, attempts a smile despite his churning insides.

Steven's expression softens, a grin peppering his lips. "So you two haven't..." His tone is less serious now, like he believes he's being ridiculous, that with a few simple words Brendan's soothed his fears.

Brendan can't bear to break that.

"Nothing's ever happened." His wrinkles his nose in distaste, acts like the idea mildly offends him.

"Good." The boy smiles openly then, appeased by such a simple lie.

"So..." Brendan brushes a hand through Steven's hair, keeps his voice neutral. "You going to tell me what was in that contract?"

He feels the boy tense, can't quite look him in the eye the same way as before. "Why do you want to know about that?" It's defensive.

"I want to know just how sleazy our dear friend Simon really is."

For a moment he thinks Steven's going to tell him, that he'll admit to being interested in the terms, that they'll both attempt to laugh it off as getting caught in the moment, and Brendan will silence his doubts the only way he knows how.

"I didn't really look at the contract. I just said I didn't want to see it."

Brendan thinks of all the thoughts that must be running through Steven's head, to look him in the eye, to not blush or colour in any way. To convince them both that he's telling the truth. The boy's forgetting who he's dealing with.

"Anyway, lets not talk about that. He's gone now."

What Steven doesn't understand is that no one's ever truly _gone_ in this place. They're always round the corner, constantly waiting to fuck you up.

He's pulling Brendan back towards the bed, trying to distract him now. Brendan lets himself be moved, wonders who really has the power here, and it's a terrifying thought that it might not be him.

He feels the need to rectify that immediately, puts Steven onto his back and reaches for his buckle, bats the boy's hand away when he tries to touch him. He's the one setting the rules here, needs to somehow feel like he has control of this thing again, otherwise it'll all tumble from his grasp.

He wrestles Steven out of his underwear, still denying him the touch that he seems to so desperately want, looks like he's having to lean on his hands to stop himself from reaching out.

The pounding in Brendan's head is lessening, and all that's left is Steven. He wants the boy's hands on him, but it'll have to wait, feels like this is more important, reasserting his dominance if he has any left at all. He felt more in charge when he was with Walker, realises now that it has nothing to do with someone's size or stature, that it's about what they take from you. Steven seems to take everything, has the ability to make Brendan feel like he's God-like one minute, not even worth breathing the next.

Brendan wants to see all of him, gets the boy's t-shirt off and discards it on the floor, eyes trailing down over the hair on his stomach, the tattoo on his hip which still has the imprints of his teeth against it, marks which bind them.

Steven's cock is nestled in a bed of hair, and Brendan runs his fingers over it, the coarseness creating a slight scratching sensation against his raw, red knuckles. Steven stares down at his hand, asks _"does it still hurt?"_, but Brendan quietens him with a rough kiss on the lips. There's no space for gentleness here, not today.

He gives Steven's cock a few slow pumps to make it hard, eases a finger over his foreskin and against one of the prominent veins, could dip his head right now and swipe his lips over it, but he resists.

"Touch yourself for me."

Steven stares up at him, eyelashes batting. They've never done _that_ before, never laid back and watched while the other jerks themselves off, still lines that they've yet to cross.

They're going to cross them now.

The boy looks faintly embarrassed as he begins, his hand holding his dick, fingers running up the shaft. He's hyperaware of Brendan's eyes on him the whole time, nibbles at his lips like he tends to do when he's nervous, and his unoccupied hand is shaking the tiniest amount.

Brendan lies back on the opposite end of the bed, their feet touching. He keeps his breathing measured, can feel his heartbeat going a mile a minute already, and Steven's only just begun. But God he's perfect like this, and all his, has never spent this much time just watching as he builds it up, works himself into coming.

"I feel silly," Steven says, although he never had any trouble before, never looked this bashful when he was masturbating right before they fucked. Brendan gets it though, knows that there's more pressure now, that he can see Brendan's dick bunched up in his jeans, knows that he's depending on Steven to get him off here too.

"You don't look silly," he replies, and it's the understatement of the century. He looks _amazing_, but he's meant to be teaching the boy a lesson here, although what that is he's not so sure about, not anymore.

"Okay," Steven says shyly, continues all the same despite his anxiety, and that's the great thing about him. He never stops trying.

He can tell that Steven's too aware of all the things around them at first - Brendan's gaze, the screen window, the creakiness of the bed, the fact that there are officers patrolling just outside. The boy's movements on his dick are constant but methodical, look like they're planned rather than frenzied, marked by lust.

Brendan decides that some further encouragement is needed, and he releases his own cock from its confines, spreads his legs obscenely and starts stroking himself, unashamed and trying to set an example. He's nothing if not a keen teacher.

Steven's legs visibly relax and he closes his eyes, his movements on his cock becoming more clumsy, uncoordinated. He starts moaning and it shoots straight to Brendan's dick, makes him want to come but he's still not there yet, but God he wishes he was. Steven's abandonment is startling, the way he's stroking his cock rapidly, has an almost aggressive edge to it.

If Brendan had blinked he would have missed it, but he catches the way that Steven's finger edges closer to his hole before wrapping around his cock again. Brendan smirks, thinks that with the way Steven's feeling now, it would take less than five seconds to get inside him.

"I saw that," he says triumphantly.

"What?" Steven opens his eyes, looks drunk on sex.

"You don't have to stop, you know. If you want to finger yourself."

Steven squirms. "I don't..." It comes out sounding particularly weak.

"Maybe I'd like to see you do that," Brendan challenges, gives the boy an excuse to do exactly what he wants.

Steven chews on his lip, extends his hand lower and Brendan watches the whole way, couldn't take his damn eyes off him even if wanted to. His hold on his cock feels painfully tight.

Steven spreads his legs so that they match Brendan's, and he's got the perfect access to the boy's entrance now, can see how tight it looks, can imagine the stretch of Steven's fingers opening himself up, feeling the warmth and softness that's deep inside.

Steven's looking at him, and some of that earlier embarrassment's faded, replaced by this certainty that he can do this, that Brendan _wants_ him to.

The first finger goes in, and it's as though Steven's insides clamp against it. The boy winces, breathes through it until he moves it deeper within the muscle, until the tightness is transforming into something different.

Brendan watches as his own chest rises, keeps on thinking that he's never witnessed a sight like this, but then Steven surprises him at each turn, keeps on introducing him to something even more magnificent and spine tingling that makes his toes curl. He can't think about making his control known to Steven now, and if the boy were to touch him right this second he wouldn't be able to stop him. All those thoughts have drifted out of his mind, and he's starting to wonder how he ever could have denied him. He doesn't want to punish Steven.

Brendan moves forward in the bed to raise Steven's legs higher so he can see _everything_. He doesn't even hesitate in what he's doing, merely continues to fuck himself on a single finger, the tip of his tongue poking out in concentration.

Brendan lays back again, relishes the new position he's got, fists his rapidly hardening cock, is sure that he's going to spill from this alone before he's even managed to put a condom on. He breathes_ "Jesus"_ when Steven slowly adds a second finger, wants to lean forward and lick every damp particle of sweat off the boy's golden and heaving chest.

"How does it feel?" He asks, feels like he needs to hear the answer or he'll go crazy.

"Good," Steven sighs, moves his fingers at a faster pace, arches his stomach off the bed. It reminds Brendan of when he's sucking the boy off, the way that Steven can barely lie still on the bed, twitches and fidgets like he's hot and agitated, like his skin is humming.

"As good as when I do it to you?"

Steven smiles, and Brendan thinks he's about to call him a pervert again, tell him to knock it off.

"Not as good, no."

Brendan can't resist probing further. "Oh yeah? Why not?"

Steven adds a third finger, his head lolling back on the pillow from the stretch.

"I don't know, do I? Just...you know how to touch me."

Brendan can't remember ever feeling as high as this. He can't hold off any longer.

"You won't mind me taking over then, will you?" He teases, crawls towards Steven and kisses him, nuzzles his nose against his in a way that's uncharacteristically tender of him, but it feels right.

"I suppose not, no." Steven's mouth splits so widely that Brendan fears for his jaw.

He doesn't stop until he's between his legs, lays light kisses against his dick, a stray finger rubbing against Steven's hole to ensure that it stays open. He can't resist cupping the boy's face and kissing him again, is constantly drawn back towards his mouth like it's a beacon. He uses his free hand and inserts a finger into Steven while the kiss deepens, can feel the heat of the boy's tongue, the moan that's willing to escape. He's going to bury himself in Steven until he's a sweating, incomprehensible mess.

"This is cosy." Walker leans against the door, looks at Brendan likes he's just stolen something that's his.


	14. Chapter 14

Ste jumps up from the bed frantically, makes a hasty attempt to cover himself with the sheet, but it's so thin that either he or Brendan are going to be exposed, and he fights between wanting to preserve his own modesty and not humiliate the man beside him. He tries to cover his lap, grabs his trousers and boxers that lie on the floor. He barely registers what's happening around him, feels like there's a rush of something in his ears, and it feels like it's his own blood, his adrenaline pumping inside of him. All he can concentrate on is getting dressed, of not standing in front of Walker naked and ashamed.

He vaguely registers Brendan putting on his jeans next to him, can hear the sound of a zip being done up. He wonders how Walker can be so _quiet_, how he's not hearing the sounds of bones breaking, of bodies hitting the wall, not seeing the sight of a deep red.

Ste knows he's flushed all over, humiliation making him redden. He wonders how long Walker was standing there, how they can't have heard the door being opened when the sound of it seemed like the loudest thing in the world when Ste first came here. He knows that when Brendan's around Ste barely notices anything else, and it's dangerous. Everything else risks becoming completely invisible.

He can't get over his intense feelings of embarrassment, how Walker's seen him touching himself, feels like he's just unintentionally given the man a taste of what he's been craving.

He's scared to look at him, risks it only when Brendan stands up in front of him, feels like a form of defense. Over the past few weeks Ste's grown more comfortable around Walker, has even been able to mock him without fearing for his own life, but he's aware that he can't deny the facts, the real reason that Walker's in here.

"What are you doing here?" It feels like an almost irrelevant question, so incredibly, stupidly unimportant under the circumstances, like asking someone why they've read your diary when it doesn't truly matter. The secrets are already out there.

"I just came round to apologise to Brendan about earlier," Walker says, staring at his nails like he's pondering whether to get a manicure.

"Earlier?" Ste asks, curious in spite of himself.

He sees Walker look at Brendan for a fleeting second, before staring down at his hand once more. "It's nothing for you to worry about. Looks like you had something far more...interesting going on here. I'm so sorry to interrupt Brendan fingering you."

Brendan all but hisses beside him while Ste looks down at the floor, wishes that this was the Shawshank Redemption and he could dig himself out of the place right this second.

"It really was inconsiderate of me. I would say that I should have knocked, but I did. The amount of moaning that was going on in here. Honestly gentleman, you should really try and keep the noise down when you have visitors."

"We weren't expecting any _visitors_." Brendan speaks through gritted teeth, and Ste tenses, feels like Brendan's a second away from starting a fight.

Walker purses his lips, drops his hand and walks towards them instead. Even with his clothes on Ste still feels exposed, feels like when Walker looks at him now he sees _everything_, like the material of his trousers and t-shirt may as well not even exist.

"What was I interrupting, then?" Walker leans in close to Brendan, invading his personal space like Ste's only seen himself do to him before. "Were you going to fuck him?"

Ste half expects them to start arguing like neanderthals, for Brendan to retort_ "Yes", _has the image of him puffing his chest out and marking his territory.

Instead Brendan's voice is as cold as ice, fists clenched when he replies. "Don't you ever ask me that again, or I'll kill you."

The thing that makes Ste afraid is that he doesn't doubt his words.

Walker smiles, grin of some kind of twisted satisfaction, begins to laugh loudly, and it rings around the room.

"Get a sense of humour won't you, Brendan? This is definitely a story to tell the grandkids. I can picture it now - you sitting round the sofa with them when you're released at ninety, telling them about the time when their uncle Simon caught you about to stick your dick in young Ste here."

Brendan advances towards him, and Ste puts a restraining hand on his chest. He knows it's mainly for show, mainly because he has to do something to try to stop Brendan from killing someone, that if Brendan wanted he could easily shake himself out of Ste's hold. He's surprised when he doesn't though, when he stays rooted to the spot, looks pissed off as hell, but he hasn't hurt anyone, not yet.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Walker says, smacks his hand to his head like he's scolding himself. "I forgot you call him - what is it? - ah yes. _Steven_. That I caught you about to stick your dick in young _Steven_ here."

"Never call him that. Only I call him that," Brendan says firmly, moves to cover Ste's body further from Walker's view.

Walker puts his hand around his mouth, gestures like he's whispering to Ste only. "I think he's a bit possessive, sweetheart."

The sound that comes from Brendan's mouth isn't dissimilar to a growl.

"You need to get out of here. Now."

"Oh come on Brady, we're just getting started! Why spoil the fun? And we're all friends here, aren't we? Well, _we're_ friends. I was hoping Ste and I would be something a bit more than that, but you don't like to share your toys, do you?"

Ste tries to move out from behind Brendan, doesn't know what he has planned, but being called a _toy_ isn't something he's standing for.

Brendan blocks him though, the persistent bastard, barely even looks over his shoulder to map Ste's movements, just moves his feet to the right side first, then the left when Ste tries to get past.

Walker brushes the hair out of his eyes, continues to smile like he's finding the whole thing hilarious, and Ste can't understand. It's not the reaction he was expecting.

"Looks like you've got a feisty one there. Lucky you. I've got to say, I'm a little surprised. I mean Vinnie was so...boring. Cute, hot little arse, but essentially all blonde hair and very little conversation."

Walker's trapped against the wall within an instant, Brendan's hands around his neck, closed around it enough to get Walker struggling for breath. Even now it still looks as though he's laughing.

Ste can hear Brendan say _"Shut up, shut up"_ over and over, sounds distant and far away, isn't even shouting it like he was with Cheryl.

"Brendan, get off him." Ste tries to encourage him to release his hands. He's not adverse to watching Walker suffering like this, feels that he deserves it for being such a cocky, smug idiot, but if they keep this up the officers are going to notice and come inside, and he doesn't want Brendan marched down to Tony's office. Ste's scared of the questions they may ask him, knows that he must still be under suspicion of beating Warren up, even if the CCTV footage has been destroyed.

He also can't help his own curiosity, wants to know what's Walker's game here, doesn't trust this cool, calm and collected demeanor, unnerves him more than if he was swearing and screaming at them.

Brendan flinches when Ste touches him, and Ste recoils, thinks he's about to be hit. Brendan stares into his eyes, looks livid, like he's dying for the release that hurting Walker can bring him, and Ste catches a glimpse of the kind of darkness that must have been inside him when he killed Seamus.

He wonders if Vincent meant that much to him, the way he'd barely given Walker time to finish his sentence before he'd lunged for his throat, pushed him so roughly that bruises must be developing on his back. Ste feels full of ugly, twisted thoughts, thinks he must be sick for feeling jealousy at the pit of his stomach for this boy that he's never met, who's dead. It hurts, Brendan having a past which doesn't include him, and he's wondering if there's others out there, people who he's lost, who he wishes he hadn't.

He hadn't imagined being Brendan's sloppy seconds, but now he's wondering if he's even that, if he's actually the last on a long list.

"You should be careful with him Ste, he's got quite a temper," Walker says, can finally speak more clearly now that Brendan's grip has loosened around him.

"You're a fucking murderer, you bastard," Brendan spits, and Ste can't blame him for drawing attention to the irony of Walker's sentence.

Walker's face goes rigid, looks like you could cut yourself on his cheekbones. "You're playing dirty now, are you? Don't make me remind you why you're in here."

"I would never hurt a woman," Brendan says emphatically, and Ste believes him, believes that however screwed up Brendan may be, he's got his own moral code that he lives by.

"No, you'd just kill your own father. That's far better."

Ste wants to say it then, knows he has no right, but it's fucking tempting, can't stand that everyone thinks that Brendan's some kind of sick murderer, that it was all premeditated, that he's damaged enough to have killed his father for no reason.

He doesn't think Walker's too far gone to not feel some sympathy, if only a shred. Ste remembers his reaction to him bringing up rape, remembers how Walker had seemed resolute when he'd appeared disgusted by it, wanted no part in that way of thinking.

He looks at Brendan and knows, _knows_, he's thinking the same thing, that he's looking at Ste, eyes silently pleading with him to not say a single word.

"There's a perfectly easy way for us to sort this out," Walker says, the venom having left his voice.

"No," Brendan says immediately, sharply.

Ste looks between the two of them, tries to figure out what the fuck's going on, seems like they're having a conversation with each other in their heads, one that Ste's been excluded from.

"What? What is it?" He demands, couldn't bear it if Brendan kept him in the dark under some false hope of protecting him. He's not some fragile little creature, and he _needs_ Brendan to know that.

"Do you want to tell him, or shall I?" Walker challenges.

"There's nothing to tell," Brendan warns, doesn't take his eyes off Walker, looks like he's trying to control his mind into not revealing anything.

Walker faces Ste, looks like he's reveling in every second of this. "There could be a new contract."

Ste's sick to death of it, never wants to hear the word contract again.

"You, me...Brendan."

Ste's got to hand it to Walker, he manages to make a threesome sound like something more exotic than sordid. There must be some kind of talent in that.

"Tick tock, tick tock," Brendan says suddenly, and Ste wonders if he's gone insane.

"Counting down to your release, Brendan? It may take a while," Walker replies, bares his pointed teeth in a smirk.

"Tick tock, tick tock," Brendan continues, sounds like he's possessed. "So close to your death now, Simon."

Walker rolls his eyes, tuts loudly. "Honestly, all this talk of death is getting rather tedious. Death doesn't scare me, hasn't seen Cam died. You know this - or is Ste's sweet arse affecting your brain cells?"

"You'll be begging for it soon."

"Begging's not really my style. You can put that in the contract though, if you want."

"Simon I told you, I'm not signing a contract," Ste interjects, had convinced himself that it was over when he'd talked to him alone.

"Why, because Brady said so? Has he instructed you not to?"

"No. I can think for myself," he says sternly, hates the suggestion that he's following Brendan's orders, even if since he's been in here he feels like he doesn't know his own mind anymore. The man he was before wasn't gay, didn't hook up with someone for more than one night, least of all someone dangerous like Brendan.

Walker looks like he sees straight through him, notices the doubt behind Ste's words.

"I'm guessing that pretty little ex girlfriend of yours doesn't know about this, does she?"

Ste feels his heart lurch at the suggestion, knows that he's only just beginning to win Amy round again, and there's a threat in Walker's tone that's unmistakable.

"Yeah...she knows everything..." He wants to sound convincing, _desperately_ wants it, but the room's quiet, and he can see that Brendan is avoiding his gaze, can't back up his lies.

"From what I've heard you've never mentioned Brendan to her."

Ste squares his eyes at him. "How do you know? You don't sit near me at visiting hours."

Walker tends to sit near the far corner, is usually visited by an array of women, a different one each week it seems, and he seems to set a challenge for himself over how long he can kiss them before they're split apart by the officers, wary of the women passing drugs to him through mouth to mouth contact.

"He has his fucking sources, doesn't he?" Brendan mutters, swears under his breath. "People who work for him in this place."

It's too much for Ste, too fucked up. He expected prison to be something like this, had watched enough films to know that there would be gangs, an elite, but the reality still feels overwhelming, and the idea that people have been listening in to his private conversations about Leah and Lucas makes him feel sick.

"No, that's...you can't do that, Simon, right? If you care about me at all..." He feels stupid for putting it in those terms, knows that this isn't about how much he _cares_ for him. He knows the only way to make Walker stop this would be to sleep with him, and he's more determined than ever not to give away his dignity like that.

"It's okay, Steven. He's not going to be. I'll make sure of it," Brendan says, and Ste believes him unequivocally, believes that Brendan will put a stop to it, is starting to believe that he'd do anything for him, but at what cost? He's not going to let Walker end up in the hospital along with Warren. It's becoming too risky, and he can't depend on Brendan bribing every officer. One day these threats aren't going to work, and he won't see Brendan get in trouble for it. He _can't_.

"It's a legitimate question, Brendan. I don't think the lovely Amy's going to be too pleased knowing that a) Ste likes cock and b) He likes a murderer's cock."

"Because she'd just love knowing he was with you, wouldn't she?" But Brendan's voice wavers, and he stares at Ste, as if looking for back up here, back up that Ste's not sure he can give. He can't say with any certainty that Amy would support him in this. She's the person he's most nervous about telling all this too, knows that he can't go on existing like this forever, not when she was already beginning to suggest that he started dating again before he got arrested.

She'd even set him up with a friend, and when he met her for their date she'd taken one look at him, said "You're gay, aren't you?", and then proceeded to sit stiffly on her chair for the rest of the night, listening to his protests that he most definitely _wasn't_ gay. He was a dad, so he couldn't be, could he?

He can hear Amy's voice in his head, hear the criticism which will be so much worse than Doug's, because she's his best friend, has been there through everything, has the power to take away his kids from him, and right now they're one of his reasons for existing.

"Oh Brendan, the boy doesn't look too sure right now..." Walker trails off.

"Shut up!" Ste snaps, can usually find some amusement in Walker's smugness, but today his patience is wearing thin. He felt less exposed when he was lying naked on his bed and stroking his cock in front of Brendan, watching the way the man _loved_ it, every part of his body giving him away, getting off on Ste's own arousal. There was a strange kind of safety in it that he doesn't feel now that he's dressed, now that Walker seems to hold all the power here.

"Just get out, Simon," Ste continues quietly, hopes he has at least a shred of respect for him remaining that'll make him do this one thing.

Walker looks between them, eyes trailing over Ste's entire body like he's remembering every curve, every line of what he saw. Ste barely moves, doesn't even relax when he sees Walker gracefully move towards the door, opens it like it doesn't weigh a ton, doesn't give them a backwards glance when he closes it behind him.

The room's quiet for a moment as Ste waits to see who's going to start talking first. He doesn't feel like he has the words, can hardly just suggest they continue where they left off, would be too fucked up, too much has happened since Walker caught them. Amy's weighing on his mind now, and the idea of what Walker could do next, because he knows it must be _something_. He just hasn't completely gauged how screwed up Walker really is yet, what exact lengths he'll go to.

"Well that was..." He says when he can't take it anymore. "Embarrassing."

Brendan straightens out his shirt, the one that Ste manages to get crumpled every time he throws it down in the corner of the floor. He looks at his crotch, wonders when Brendan's erection died down, knows that his pretty much went away the second he saw Walker in the room. There's the snappy retort that he wishes he'd said earlier. _"Nothing like you to kill my boner, Simon." _He wishes he'd had the guts.

"Promise me that you won't speak to him again, Steven."

Ste blinks, wasn't expecting that of all things. "Simon?"

"No, the easter bunny. Yes, Simon."

"Alright, you don't need to get all snappy with me!"

Brendan stares at him expectantly, looks like he's putting everything on this answer, and Ste feels that whatever he says it won't be enough.

"It's not like I can avoid him in here." It's not that he _wants_ to see Walker, but he's looking at the reality of the situation, knows that even with the number of men in here he doesn't have much of a chance of keeping out of Walker's way, not when he's made it his mission to seek Ste out time and time again.

It's not what Brendan was waiting to hear, and he's got that far away, distant look that Ste hates, hates because it means he's pushing him away. For a man who seems so in control of things, who single-handedly seems to run this prison, Ste's never seen someone more alone.

He used to watch Pauline and Terry, used to see how he slowly dominated her whole life, would stop her from seeing the few friends she had, until everything became about the booze and him, and there was no space for anything _good_. Ste doesn't want to become that, doesn't want anyone to dictate to him who he can and can't see, but then why does he feel so protected with Brendan, can't help but feel that he's doing this to keep him safe. He never thought possessiveness could feel this secure.

It's why he pulls Brendan towards him by the hand, why he gives him a soft kiss, is scared of deepening it in case Walker returns, but has to do _something_, can't stand them being distant. Brendan leans his forehead against his, and it feels like one of the most intimate things they've ever done. Ste doesn't move an inch, just keeps his eyes on Brendan's lips, wants them to just stay like this for a while.

"I promise."

He feels Brendan relax, and the mask slips. Just like that he's there in the room with Ste, all his again.

* * *

He breaks his promise.

The next day he sees Walker in the dining room, thinks he looks far too happy for a man whose plan has failed, doesn't trust it one bit. Ste's sitting with Doug and Ethan, feels distant and separate from them, can't share Ethan's happiness about Warren, not when he's constantly fearful of the repercussions when Warren wakes up. Brendan telling him that Warren didn't see anything's not enough. Ste won't know whether he can breathe easily again untill he comes out of the hospital.

Ste thinks it'll be impossible to get past Brendan, but he sees an opportunity presented to him when he sees him talking to Lynsey, and leaps at the distraction. He follows Walker out of the dining room, watches as he makes his way over to the gym. The process of digestion seems to be lost on Walker, but Ste knows that Brendan's not likely to come here this soon, not after one of his mammoth breakfasts.

The room's only occupied by one other prisoner, and Ste slips in beside Walker.

"I was wondering when you were going to make your presence known."

Ste stares at him, confused.

"I saw you following me," Walker explains, and Ste curses himself, thinks that with his slip of a body he should at least be able to disappear into the background successfully.

"Why didn't you say something then?"

"I thought I'd humour you."

Ste crosses his arms, slouches against the treadmill machine that Walker begins to run on.

"Does your boyfriend know you're here?"

"He's not my boyfriend." Ste doesn't say it with as much conviction as he'd like.

"No, he isn't," Walker says seriously now, and Ste can't keep up, feels like it's only ever riddles and innuendos with this man. "I hope you realise that. Brendan will never have a boyfriend."

Ste keeps his head held high, tries to look for all the world like this doesn't faze him. He didn't come to prison looking for anything serious, didn't come in here for anything at all except to serve his sentence and get the hell out, hopefully wrapping this entire experience into a neat box which he could never look at again.

"Fine by me," he says, avoids Walker's gaze in case he's laughed at. He doesn't want to be known as Brendan Brady's pet, as one of his _boys _who's going to be replaced by someone smarter, better looking, more interesting.

"I hope you don't mind me doing this," Walker says, gestures to his body, his chest heaving up and down on the treadmill, sweat already gathering on his exposed chest, a thin vest covering his upper half.

Ste can just imagine the pleasure Walker's getting from knowing that he's watching his every move. Even the pants he's making sound exaggerated, louder.

"Not at all," he says firmly, is pleased by how bored and unaffected he sounds.

"Good. So, what have I done to deserve this honour of your visit, baby?"

Ste decides that he's played games for long enough. He never should have hid the truth, and he plans to put a stop to it now.

"I want to know that you're going to leave us alone. Me and Brendan."

Walker's silent for a moment, and there's only the sound of his feet pounding against the surface of the machine.

"You mean never speak to you again? I'm afraid that's impossible. Brendan and I have been friends for years."

Ste resists the urge to point out that that _friendship_ clearly doesn't have the same significance to Brendan.

"I mean that you won't try anything. Won't hurt him in any way. Won't try and get...revenge."

He feels faintly ridiculous for saying it, isn't the first time that he's felt like he's taking part in a mafia movie in here, but Walker seems to think there's nothing unusual about it.

"You have a high opinion of yourself, don't you?"

Ste blinks, is caught off guard by the bluntness of the question.

"Thinking that I'd hurt Brendan just because he's stolen you from me."

"He didn't steal me - I wasn't ever yours." Ste's increasingly beginning to feel like a possession here, like he's some kind of used car that's being exchanged between Brendan and Walker and back again.

Walker chuckles darkly, increases the speed on the machine until it looks like no one could possibly run that fast, and Ste feels dizzy just looking at him.

"Brady knew that I wanted you."

"This is what I'm talking about - all this madness." He doesn't have a better way to describe it, wonders how this is possibly about him at all, thinks that it must be more to do with Brendan and Walker, because _no one _could want him this much. "I need to know that you're not going to do anything stupid."

"Please sweetheart, have a bit more faith in me. I'm not going to do what Brendan did to Warren, if that's what you're worried about."

Ste's mouth feels dry, his breath catching in his throat. "That wasn't...Brendan didn't."

"Brendan didn't attack Fox. No, of course he didn't. Ste, it's become the worst kept secret in this place, worse than the fact that your friend the drug dealer's fucking his English teacher. You're forgetting that I've been alive a lot longer than you."

"Fucking hell, what is it with this age thing?" Ste shouts, is sick to death of the way that everyone seems to regard him as inferior because he's one of the youngest here.

"Don't see it as a bad thing. It makes you ripe." Walker looks him over, not slowing down his movements. "Constantly up for it."

Ste's about to argue back but finds himself unable to disagree with the bastard. He remembers waking Brendan up in the middle of the night, had tried to hold off till morning but he hadn't been able to, his cock growing harder against his stomach as he imagined all the things he wanted to do to him.

Brendan had been dazed with sleep, had started mumbling. "What is it, what's wrong?" Ste had felt ashamed, had disturbed him and worried him when what was really wrong was that he wanted to be fucked.

Brendan had smiled when Ste had guided his hand to his cock, had looked at him knowingly.

"You horny..."

Ste had cut off his words with a kiss, had let himself be rolled over onto his stomach by Brendan, pulled up onto his knees, had barely been prepared by Brendan's fingers and tongue before he'd felt the head of Brendan's dick entering him, the sensation intense enough for Ste to let out a long breath that he hadn't even known he'd been holding.

"Please, promise me that you won't do anything," Ste demands, and the sound of Walker running threatens to drown out his words, but he senses that the man can still hear him, doesn't repeat it, allows it time to sink in. He's not looking for a half hearted promise of something that Walker can't keep.

He's beginning to wonder if promises even truly mean anything. He had meant it when he'd told Brendan that he'd stay away, but he's broken it now, couldn't even wait twenty four hours before he followed Walker in here. Ste prays that Lynsey's still occupying him in the dining room, imagines Brendan approaching Doug and Ethan, wonders if his friends had seen him on Walker's trail.

He has to be quick about this.

"Please," he says again, hates begging this man but he'll do anything in order to survive, and that's what this feels like. _Survival_. He wouldn't know what to do if something happened to Brendan.

"I'm not going to attack Brendan," Walker says quietly. "Or you." It's an unnecessary addition, because Ste didn't fear for himself, was only scared about the two of them, this war they seem to be having with each other. "You have my word."

Ste doesn't know how much Walker's word is worth, but it's enough for him to hold onto, something concrete, and relief floods through him. The image of Brendan's red and bruised hand is still with him, and every day that it heals that tiny bit more Ste feels happier, lighter. That had been self inflicted, had been something that he'd recover from. Ste can't stand to think about what would happen if someone else hurt Brendan, if it was something that he couldn't come back from.

Ste stares at Walker with something like gratitude, tries to end the conversation, because there's nothing else here for him now.

He hears the low hum of the machines behind him as he walks towards the door, plans to find Brendan as soon as possible before he can notice his absence.

"Ste?"

Walker comes off the machine, covers himself with his towel and wipes away the sweat that's gathered on his body.

"He's good, isn't he?"

Ste wishes that Walker hadn't switched the treadmill off. It's suddenly too quiet, and he realises that the other man's gone, that there's only the two of them in the room now.

"Who?" He doesn't want to ask.

"Brendan. He's good in bed, isn't he?"

Ste lets out a nervous laugh, fidgets from foot to foot like he always does, an infuriating trait that's present every time he's uncertain or anxious. He doesn't know _why_ he's nervous. Walker's doing one of his practical jokes on him, annoying but more or less harmless.

"Maybe you should keep dreaming about it, yeah?" But even the thought of Walker thinking it makes Ste uncomfortable, wishes he could reach into Walker's brain and discard the images into somewhere else.

"Oh, did he not..." Walker looks scandalised, gasps and puts a hand over his mouth. "Oh darling, I'm sorry. I thought Brendan had explained about our past."

_I'm not going to fall for this. I'm not. _

"Your past?"

He hates the way Walker's looking at him now, like he's just stepped on a fragile, broken winged bird.

"I really shouldn't of said anything. Forget about it, please. I don't want to cause trouble."

_Like hell you don't. _He could laugh at the suggestion that Simon's the innocent little victim in all this.

"No, go on. Tell me," he demands, because if Walker wants to tell him a joke then Ste's damn well going to get a good laugh.

Walker's hand is still on his mouth, and he gradually removes it. Ste wonders how he manages to keep the smug smile from his lips, knows that it's lurking somewhere inside.

"Brendan and I slept together."

Ste shakes his head immediately, a strong denial.

"No, he told me you two had never..." And Brendan _wouldn't_ lie to him.

"Oh, sweetheart," Walker says, and Ste sees that he's perfected his apologetic expression, must have practiced in the mirror for hours. "Brendan's not being honest with you."

"No, he...he wouldn't do that to me." Ste struggles to make the words true. He's torn between wanting to run from the room right now, and his desire to hear everything, even if it's just Walker's crafted fabrication. "I suppose you two were in love as well?" He goads, wonders when Walker's going to tell him that they were engaged and planning to adopt too, make the story even more of a punch in the stomach.

"Hardly," Waller says, surprising Ste. "Brendan doesn't fall in love with anyone, and do you think I'd fall for _that_? He's as bad as Doug is. Worse."

"Then why do you speak to him?" Ste can't understand, doesn't get why Walker is willing to associate with Brendan when he can't even look at Doug.

"We...understand each other."

Ste wonders if that's another way of saying_ "we fuck each other."_

"How many times?" He feels like a jilted, betrayed wife, but he has to know.

Walker understands his meaning immediately. "I've lost count."

Ste sucks in a breath, doesn't know whether he wants to laugh or grab one of the weights and smash it against the wall.

"Were you together when I came in?"

"Yes. We'd slept together a few days before."

Ste can't believe this. "But Vincent -"

"It stopped when Brendan met him, when he began to have a...fondness for the boy. But when he died it began again."

"How romantic," Ste spits, wants this to be a lie so desperately that it aches, but it makes sense to him now, the way that the men act around each other, like there's a whole history there that Ste hasn't even begun to understand.

A terrible thought forms in his brain, too strong for him to ignore. "Have you...since I came here?"

"No."

Ste gathers some relief from that, however small. It still feels weak against Brendan's lies.

"Why would he tell me that you hadn't?" He says it more to himself than to Walker, needs to understand why Brendan could trust him with his father's abuse, but not this.

"How do you think I feel, darling? Knowing Brendan's ashamed of _me_."

"Oh, you think you're so much better, do you?" He still feels the same undeniable need to defend Brendan, and he has no idea if they'll ever be a day when he won't.

"Yes," Walker says simply, says it as if it's obvious, and to every person in this place he thinks it probably is, thinks that they're superior to Brendan because as horrific as their crimes are, he killed his father, and that makes him damned.

"Maybe he had reasons. For doing what he did."

Walker cocks his head to the side, eyes wide, drinking Ste in.

"Why don't you tell me all about it?"

* * *

Brendan's finished The Great Gatsby. It had laid in the corner of his unoccupied bed, left unread because Steven had been infinitely more desirable. He senses that he's not going to get much reading done for the next few months, not with the boy taking up so much of his life. During the time it took to reach the last few pages, Brendan was wishing that Steven was in the cell with him, that at the very least the boy had been stretched beside him while he'd read.

He knows it would have been hopeless though, that with Steven here he wouldn't have been able to concentrate on a single thing, not when there was so much more to enjoy, not when he could be exploring the boy's body, would never tire of fucking him, rocking back and forth, lit up from the inside.

Brendan had wanted to sit with him at breakfast, but he doesn't know how to take that step. He feels ridiculous, he sleeps with Steven every night for Christ's sake, but sitting opposite him like they're a couple feels too exposing. He tells himself _tomorrow_, knows that tomorrow will extend into the next day, imagines that Steven will have left at the end of his sentence and they'll still never have eaten together. But he doesn't like thinking about his release date, struggles to put it out of his mind, swears at the way that Gatsby and Daisy and Tom all turn into _Steven, Steven, Steven. _

When the door opens he sits up from the bed, smiling in anticipation. He envisages Steven's eyes, sees the boy's rumpled hair, the open grin that he gives so easily, that seems completely natural to him, like the world hasn't yet given him reason to lose hope.

Brendan's smile fades when he sees Walker instead, and he lets out a groan. That's two unwanted visits in a day.

"Nice to see you too," Walker says, closing the door behind him. Brendan groans louder, sensing that this won't be a quick call.

"What do you want?" He's getting more and more nervous by these meetings, worries that Steven will start thinking that there's something going on if he walks in on them again.

Walker's expression is sombre, and Brendan wonders what the hell has happened, half expects to hear that someone's died.

"Brendan...I don't know how to say this."

Brendan's panic rises. Walker has never not known how to say anything.

"I heard...about your dad. About what he did to you. I'm so sorry. Ste told me everything."


	15. Chapter 15

Brendan gazes up at the ceiling, counting all the cracks. There's too many though, and he loses the number in his head. He used to be great at maths, got a gold star at his eight times tables in school. He can still remember that if nothing else, could recite it all now at the speed of lightning, a constant reminder of his childhood that he can never erase.

He feels like he can still smell Walker in the room, can hear the sound of the man's voice reverberating in his head.

_"I heard...about your dad. About what he did to you. I'm so sorry. Ste told me everything."_

Brendan doesn't realise he's digging his nails into his flesh before he sees the blood in his palm. He gets up off the bed, washes the red away in the sink. A new mirror still hasn't been put in, and he's grateful for that, doesn't want to see the reflection staring back at him.

He's a monster. He thought that Steven had been something that had offered him light, someone who finally _understood_, made him realise that the world could be good again. But he didn't deserve it, he didn't deserve anything that could replace pain with pleasure, and the boy had sensed that, had betrayed him.

"_I don't know what you're talking about."_

"_He told me, Brendan. About those awful things that your father did to you. The abuse...the rape."_

He'd pushed Walker out of the cell with an unnerving sense of detachment, didn't even raise his voice, had just told him to get the fuck out, had already heard all he needed to know.

Steven had been the only person he'd trusted with what Seamus had done to him, and first chance he'd got he'd run to Simon, probably laughed at Brendan while they talked about him, laughed at how weak he was, how pathetic at having let that happen to him.

He hears the door open, doesn't even turn around to look at who it is, but he knows it's Steven and not an officer, can recognise the sound of his feet shuffling, could bet money on the boy's head being down, not wanting to look at him ever again. Why would he?

There's no where to run though, and he can't escape him. He _has_ to look, and when he does he regrets it acutely, because Steven's beautiful, and what he's just done feels like it's stabbing Brendan in the chest.

Brendan doesn't know why Steven's not already dead yet, should rip the boy out of his own skin for what he's done. He shouldn't even have any movement in his legs, should be on the floor surrounded by a pool of seeping blood.

Brendan's scared that if he tries to hurt him he'll kiss him instead.

"What happened to your hand?" Steven's voice is cold, and he's staring down at the wound which is still open.

"Doesn't matter."

"It's only just starting to heal after what you did to the mirror."

He wants to tell him drop the pretense of caring, that it stings worse that way.

"You a fucking nurse, Steven?"

Steven doesn't say anything for a moment, just stares at him like he has the audacity to be shocked at Brendan's tone, like he doesn't know what he's just done.

"No, I'm just saying..."

Brendan goes back towards the bed, picks up a book and props it in front of him, using it to block out Steven's face.

He can hear the boy moving around the cell, the springs of his bed creaking as he sits down. The bed's worse since they started fucking, looks like it's about to collapse. He'll be able to hear it in the night from now on, hear as Steven tosses and turns, will know when the boy's still awake.

The thought's unbearable to him.

He's going to request a transfer today, going to ask to be moved to another cell, cite _irreconcilable differences _like they're getting a fucking divorce.

But not before he kills Steven first.

He listens to the sound of him breathing, thinks how that steady in and out will soon cease to exist. He imagines pretty little bruises covering Steven's body, his high cheekbones bearing the brunt of Brendan's fists, the look in his eyes as he gasps for breath, before all the life is extinguished out of him.

Brendan rushes over to the bucket in the corner, retches violently in it, coughs and splutters afterwards like he's getting rid of everything inside him.

He feels a hand on his back, tentative but there, and a slow rub.

"Are you alright?" There's alarm there, and concern now.

The coldness was better.

"Of course I am, stop fussing." He shrugs Steven off, can't stand to be touched by him.

"Was it something you ate?"

Oh God, he's trying to _help_.

"Just leave it."

Steven's too close to him, and Brendan moves away, would put a hundred feet between them and a brick wall if he could.

He wonders if this is the guilt setting in now. If the boy's pretending he cares because he realises how much he's fucked up.

Brendan grabs a piece of tissue, uses it to leak up the blood. He can feel Steven's eyes burning into him, sees the confusion there, and can't understand how Steven can make him feel like he's in the wrong here.

"What happened to you?" It sounds like an accusation.

_You happened to me._

"Why are you doing this to yourself? If you're trying to hurt yourself then -"

"Jesus, Steven. That's not..." _That's not what this is about. _"It was an accident, yeah? Drop it." It comes out as a warning

Steven looks uncomfortable, is trying to work out in that little head of his exactly what he's done wrong. Brendan wants to scream at him that it's not exactly rocket science, _get a fucking clue Judas. _

"Maybe I don't want to drop it."

Fucking hell. The boy's making it easier to hate him, to commit another murder.

"What would you do if I hurt myself, huh? If my hand looked like that. If I was bleeding, or bruised."

That's not a fair question. It's not the _same_. Steven's more important than him, means so much more. These things shouldn't ever be compared.

"Come on, what would you do?"

_I'd lock you away where no one could hurt you again, heal every mark on your skin with my lips, wouldn't let you go until the world was safe again. I'd never let you out of my sight because you're too precious, too good to be ruined by other people. _

_I know that's not healthy, I know it's fucked up, but my feelings for you are fucked up. You're someone I want to protect but I hurt you, didn't I? I pushed you against that wall and hurt you, but you still came back for more._

"You've got to look after yourself, Steven." Brendan allows himself to say that much, because he can't have the boy doing anything stupid once this is all over. There's no Danny Houston anymore but Steven's not much older than Vincent, and there's plenty of people in here who would take advantage.

But it's more what Steven's going to do to himself that scares Brendan. He knows from experience that it's your own thoughts that are the most destructive. It's playing on his mind, the image of Steven lying awake at night and going over and over why Brendan's done it, why everything's collapsed around them.

It's these thoughts that have followed Brendan around for his entire life. _Why? Why_ was he the one who got raped, _why_ was he the one who turned into a freak, _why_ was he the one who killed and beat others down. _Why_ can't he be normal.

But Steven has made his choice, hasn't he? Signed away this thing that existed between them, whatever it was. It belongs to Walker now, is his property to use against him.

"I need to tell you something."

Brendan feels a spark burning inside him, low but present. It feels strangely like hope, like the truth at last.

It shouldn't change anything, but he needs something to cling onto, wants to hear an admittance of guilt from Steven, something to right this wrong.

But the boy is stumbling at the first hurdle, opening his mouth like a gawping fish, nothing but hot air coming out.

He can't do it. He can't tell him.

"I think we should probably stick to our own beds tonight." It comes out in a rush, so far removed from what Steven wanted to say that it sounds strange, alien to Brendan's ears.

Brendan waits to be fed more lies, and surely enough they continue to spill from his lips, distanced from what's really going on here.

"Yeah, I just...I haven't been sleeping that well lately, and I'm worried I keep you awake, disturb you."

Brendan's the one who can't sleep through the night, has only managed it lately because he's been so worn out by this boy, feels safer than he has done in a long time lying beside him. He knows that Steven's the one who falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow, lying cocooned in Brendan's arms.

"Okay." He doesn't trust himself to say more, doesn't trust his own reactions right now.

"Okay?" Steven echos back, sounding affronted.

"If that's what you want."

There's silence for a moment and Brendan can't stand it, feels like everything that's unsaid is traveling around the room right now, that _this isn't right_ and _it's not what I want._

"Yeah, it is."

* * *

"Can I talk to you?" Ste leans against the wall, has waited for ten minutes outside the English classroom. He doesn't want Doug to feel like he's being cornered, but after the way things have been the past few days he feels like it's the only solution, the only way he can get him on his own.

Doug turns back to Lynsey and nods to her, and it's then that Ste realises what he's possibly interrupted. He doesn't know if he'd be that loyal, whether he would pass up an opportunity to be with Brendan for a friend. It's a sobering thought, that when he's with Brendan it becomes the most important thing to him, and everything else fades into nothing. That's not the kind of person he wants to be.

"I thought you weren't talking to me?"

"I thought you weren't talking to me!"

They break into laughter at the same time, both realising the ridiculousness of the situation. Doug smiles at him sheepishly, and Ste beckons down on the hallway to the chairs by the pool table. It's so noisy in here that they stand the least risk of someone overhearing them.

"I'm sorry about how I've been acting," Doug says immediately, and it lifts the remaining tension that was in Ste's body. "I don't like Brendan, but I shouldn't have judged you like that. Maybe you see something in him that I don't."

Ste can see that it's taking all of Doug's strength to say this, looks like his face is contorting with how much he wants to scream _don't go near him_.

"I thought I saw something."

Doug looks at him sharply. "Past tense?"

It's humiliating to admit that he could have been wrong.

"Brendan's been acting...strange. Distant."

Doug chuffs a laugh. "That's Brendan for you. He's not exactly the love hearts and chocolates type, is he?"

"Yeah, but he would do little things."

"Like what?" Doug asks in disbelief.

Like making sure that Ste has more of the bed cover in the middle of the night, because he knows how he gets cold. Like making him feel desirable for the first time in his life, as though he just _has_ to touch his arse at least once a day, _has_ to comment on his appearance like he's something special. Like the way he made Ste feel less alone in this place, in his own life.

"I don't know. Just...he's not being himself."

Ste's grateful when Doug doesn't argue back,_ I've known him a lot longer than you. _He knows it sounds crazy, knows that he shouldn't feel this intensely considering he's only known Brendan for such a short period of time, shouldn't feel this intensely at all about anyone _ever_, too dangerous, too obsessive.

"And..." He's about to speak the words that make him feel fucking furious, needy and pathetic, but he has to tell _someone_. "I found out that he slept with Walker."

He feels even more embarrassed as Doug stares at him in confusion. "Did you not know?"

"You never told me," he replies defensively, wants to try and lay the blame elsewhere rather than at his own door. He can't help but feel that it's his own fault, that Brendan must have recognised something in him that couldn't be trusted, that was wrong.

"I didn't think it was my place. And after you told me you and Brendan were together...I just assumed you knew."

Ste wonders if he was the only person in this place to not know, imagines everyone laughing at him behind his back, wondering how on earth Brendan could go from Walker to him. He's everything Walker's not, is skinny where Walker's built, feels weak in comparison to Walker's strength. He can't stop the assault of images in his mind, can see them even when he closes his eyes, imagines Walker and Brendan together, and how the fuck can he even begin to live up to that?

"Were they properly together?"

Doug looks uncomfortable, picks at the hem of his sleeve. "Not really together, no. I mean they mainly just...you know."

_Yeah, I know. They mainly just fucked. _

"Maybe that's why Brendan didn't say anything. It can't have been that important to him."

"He lied to me. I asked him outright, and he told me nothing had happened." Ste feels stubborn, determined to hold onto this slight. He knows that Brendan's told him the big things, the _biggest_ thing, but feeling angry about this is giving him power, power he doesn't have if he becomes hurt instead.

"Why don't you ask him about it?"

Doug makes it sound so simple, so wonderfully easy. Ste longs to have that naivety, can understand why Lynsey loves him when everything with him is black and white. _You end things with Brendan because he's a murderer. You leave Ethan alone because Warren's a psycho. You confront Brendan because that's the only way you'll get answers. _

It must be peaceful to live in Doug's world.

"I can't, can I? Then he'll know that I spoke to Simon."

"So?"

"So..." Ste looks away, doesn't want to see the look in Doug's eyes at his next sentence. "Brendan doesn't want me talking to him. Spending time with him."

"Ste -"

"You don't have to tell me. You think he's controlling me, right?"

"He's telling you who you can and can't see. That's classic abusive behaviour."

"Thank you, psychologist Doug. That's really helpful, that."

"You know I'm only telling you this because I care. Brendan's hurt people in the past. Vinnie -"

"I don't want to hear it," Ste interrupts firmly. He can already imagine what Doug's going to tell him, that Brendan hit Vinnie. Ste had seen the signs himself, had been at the receiving end when Brendan had pushed him against the wall soon after he'd arrived, had sported bruises for days.

If Ste judges Brendan constantly by his past then how is he ever going to escape his own? How does he stand a hope in hell of being forgiven by Amy if he's passing judgement on someone who's the same as him?

Amy helped him, came to anger management with him, supported him until he began to regard the man he was as something other than worthless, pathetic, an _abuser. _He needs to do the same for Brendan, not out of some sense of moral obligation, but because he wants to. The alternative of giving up on him means that he can't be with him, and it's that that terrifies Ste.

He can't bear for anyone to attack Brendan, can't allow Doug's warnings to sink in, lest his starts believing them himself.

"He's trying to protect me. He knows Walker's dangerous. He just wants to look after me." A warm feeling is growing in the pit of his stomach at these words, spreading throughout his entire body. He feels the certainty of them, knows that Brendan _does_ want the best for him, and the protectiveness feels like a safety net around him, holding him together.

"I have to forgive him, don't I? Like you said, maybe the thing with Walker wasn't important to him. Just because he didn't tell me, it doesn't mean he doesn't want to be with me. And I should tell Amy, tell her that I'm...you know..." He imagines saying the word to her, _gay_. He can imagine himself sitting in the visitors room, trying to get it to roll off his tongue for a full hour. "I should tell her about me and Brendan."

"Woah, Ste!" Doug holds his hands up, looks like he's staring down at the barrel of a gun. "I never said that you should jump back into bed with him and have a coming out party afterwards. I mean is Amy the type of person who would be happy about this? Finding out that you're sleeping with a -"

"Right, that's decided it for me. Thanks Doug, you're a lifesaver!" Ste feels a surge of affection for him that causes him to pull him into a tight hug, ending with a ruffle of Doug's hair which turns his quiff into an unruly mess.

Ste gives him a parting smile as he walks round the pool table, leaving Doug staring after him with an expression like he's just walked over his own grave.

* * *

Moonshine. It's not hard to get hold of. It doesn't cost Brendan anything, because there are no rules for him in this place. He makes the rules.

He gets just enough to make him drunk, not enough so that it's startlingly obvious. He can walk past the officers without them noticing the smell of alcohol on his breath, stumbles a bit as he moves but passes it off as natural human clumsiness instead.

He gets back to the cell just before lockdown, has purposefully avoided it so that he's not in such close proximity to Steven. When he's with him he can't think clearly. Everything feels muffled, his brain fuzzy like the boy's taking over his mind, is destroying all rational thought.

He needs to take the power back.

He pushes his way into the room. The light's out and Steven's already lying in bed. Brendan expects to be met with coldness and indifference, is disarmed when Steven smiles, tentatively but with some of his old affection.

It's hard not to smile back.

Brendan almost forgets for a moment, doesn't know if it's the alcohol or if he's so used to sleeping in Steven's bed now. He moves towards it, stops and takes a different path when he realises his mistake.

His own bed looks uninviting, and the word pops into his head. _Lonely_. He feels alone. He's not used to the intensity of it. Even when he was with Eileen, trapped in something that felt unnatural, he still felt part of something.

Even when he was being carted off to prison he still felt an odd sense of peace, like he'd finally killed something that had been tormenting him his whole life.

For the first time he feels like he has no one, and without Steven there's nowhere to draw strength from.

Brendan doesn't bother to take his clothes off. He can't do that anymore, has got more naked with Steven physically and emotionally than with any other person in his life, but it's over now. He climbs into bed fully clothed, wants sleep to wash over him and last for a long, long time so he doesn't have to wake up and do this all over again. It doesn't feel like a struggle. It feels like a war.

They lie in the dark, and Brendan begins to think that Steven's fallen asleep. Perhaps sleeping with a guilty conscience is easy for him. Perhaps there is no _guilt_.

It's now that Brendan knows that the nightmares will come. He has no defense against them. He knows that the image of Seamus will come to him tonight, that Brendan will be towering over his body in his dream, raising the hammer above his head and smashing it down onto his bleeding and broken body until there's nothing left to destroy.

He turns over to his side, facing the wall. God must have had mercy on him tonight, because he doesn't have a nightmare.

He dreams that he can feel Steven climbing into his bed, can feel his skinny legs curl around his own, his lips against his neck. He tries to push him away at first but it causes him more pain that way, so he relents, gives into it like it's the moonshine, like it's soothing the very depths of his soul.

Brendan lies back against the pillow, watches with glazed eyes while Steven strips him of his clothes and his own. The boy's hands are firm and assured like he's relishing the control that he's having. He knows that if there's any accuracy to this dream then it's only a matter of time before Steven's begging for him to take charge, can never resist Brendan manhandling him roughly and expertly, like it's a drug to them both.

Brendan looks down and sees he's hard already, and _how the hell did that happen? _Steven takes Brendan's cock in his palm, runs his fingertips over the head and then strokes it, a guttural moan escaping from his own throat like he's loving this most of all, like it's a fucking high to be able to do this to him, like he loves cock that much.

It's a prolonged kind of torture, the way the boy just continues the steady up and down, doesn't make a movement closer to take him in his mouth, has a satisfied smile on his face like this is all part of his great master plan. That he knows what it's doing, making it so it's impossible for Brendan to not want to roll him onto his front and drive his dick into him.

It's a dream, he's allowed to want this. He's allowed to do this, can face reality in the morning but for now he's giving into it, wants to make Steven the happiest man on this earth, wants to make _himself_ happy and he hasn't wanted that in a long time.

"Are you going to do this all night, or do you want me to fuck you properly?" He says, his voice a challenge.

Steven lights up, looks so damn beautiful that this is worth it, having this now and losing it in the morning.

He lets Brendan place him into position, his arms gripping the pillow, his arse facing him. He's rocking back to encourage Brendan to move faster and stick his dick inside him, does the trick and makes Brendan laugh at his obscenity.

He grabs a condom, smears lube onto his fingers but Steven stops him, puts a gentle hand over his own.

"Don't. Just..."

He wants him to fuck him now.

Brendan listens to him. Steven's words are like the words of God right now, and he has to obey. He doesn't want to hurt him but he has a pretty strong feeling that Steven's tougher than he looks, that he came into this world fighting and he's been fighting ever since.

He's as much of a warrior as Brendan is.

Brendan transfers the lube from his fingers to his cock instead, coating it until he's ready. He runs his fingers down Steven's stomach, can feel the light scattering of hair brushing against the tips. This boy's extraordinary, extraordinary in the way he gives himself completely, seems to have an infinite amount of trust which no one's managed to kick out of him yet.

Brendan rubs the head of his cock against Steven's entrance, sees Steven's face drop towards the pillow, looks like he's bracing himself already for what's going to happen.

When Brendan pushes in he's engulfed by tight and hot sensations. He rests his forehead against Steven's upper back, kisses onto the skin as he goes in deeper, couldn't be anymore connected than they are right now.

This bed isn't as worn out as Steven's, and it doesn't creak with every movement. Brendan plans to change all that, wants to destroy it and all the others in the world, won't stop until he and Steven don't even know their own names anymore, are only able to make the carnal sounds of sex.

They're rocking now, rocking together as Brendan increases the pace. The booze has made his senses come alive and he craves for everything to _explode_. He can feel it building up at him, knows Steven's close too. They're going to come off the bed in a minute and Brendan won't give a fuck, will merely straighten them both out and keep on fucking the boy, nothing that could keep them apart.

The hardness of the floor won't be there in this dream. Nothing can hurt them.

Steven's making noises that Brendan's never heard before, is so _free_ that he wants to feel that too, longs to have that same abandonment, to live so completely in the moment that everything becomes this, and the outside world ceases to exist.

When Steven gasps at him to go harder Brendan doesn't hesitate, thrusts into him so powerfully that they move towards the headboard, Steven's face almost colliding with it.

"You still want me to go harder?" Brendan asks, doesn't expect that there's much more that the boy can take, but Steven surprises him.

He doesn't speak, just nods like he's not capable of forming words. Brendan pulls out and pushes back in again, hears Steven mutter _"oh God, oh fuck" _and bite into the pillow. That's two pillows that he's close to ruining now, but fucking hell is it worth it.

When they come Brendan expects the dream to be finished, knows that this is usually what happens, had happened when he was a kid before the real nightmares had taken over. He would always wake up just after the violence or the death or the fall, would sit up in bed sweating, would laugh when he realised that he was safe, before he was never safe again.

It's only when Steven lies against Brendan's chest and settles there like he has no intention of ever leaving that Brendan forces himself to realise that this isn't a dream, that he's just slept with the man who he's going to have to leave tomorrow.

* * *

Brendan's doing sit ups, is listening to Johnny Cash and moving up and down to the music, trying to make it drown out everything else. He'd usually wait till the evening for this but he feels twitchy with a nervous kind of energy, needs to channel it into something else before he goes insane.

He's sweating profusely, doesn't know how long he's been doing this for but it could be hours, and his whole body is flushed red. Whenever he thinks about giving up he pictures Steven's face and it allows him to push his body to breaking point, to get the anger he needs to keep going.

He's facing away from the door, and when he feels hands wrap around his stomach he wants them to be Walker's, wants to fuck the man to make him forget everything. He wants it to be rough and frantic, the kind of sex that'll leave bruises and blood behind. It's better at numbing everything than any drug or glass of whiskey could be.

When Brendan finally allows himself to stop the steady punishment of his body he looks up, feels like he's staring into a too bright light. It's always like this with Steven. Everything is _too much, _and it's strangling him.

The boy's smiling at him now, and Brendan wants to go back to yesterday, to when Steven had been miserable, had spoken to Brendan like it was taking physical effort to do so, and the words were coming out like a punch.

Brendan can still feel the warmness of his hands on his body. It could never have been Walker, was too intimate a gesture. Walker wouldn't have prolonged it if it had been him, would have thrown him onto the floor and claimed his lips straight away. Steven is different, is deliciously slow with foreplay, like every touch is building anticipation to the event itself.

Brendan stands up, grabs a towel.

"Don't stop on my account," Steven says, gives him a heated look that was surely designed to provoke. His voice is light, sounds like he's joking but he's not, Brendan _knows_ he's not. He'd make a bet on the boy wanting to sit on the bed and watch him as he exercises, observe his contracting muscles and flexing hips.

"I was just finishing up." Brendan makes a grab for his t-shirt.

"In that case, maybe be could..." Steven moves forward, has that look in his eyes and Brendan knows exactly what it means, the boy's intent written all over his face.

He tries to move the towel out of the way, tries to reach Brendan's bare chest and move the t-shirt from his reach. Steven's hands are firm as they scrape down him, and for one blissful second Brendan wonders what it would be like to just throw him onto the bed, and go back to the start again.

"Stop doing that, kid." His voice is harsh, his face almost like a sneer. He makes himself sounds embarrassed at what Steven's doing, at who he is. Like he's a parasite.

Steven blinks those long lashes of his, looks like the hope hasn't yet left him but it's increasingly draining from his face. He's growing paler, looks like he could wretch in the bucket just like Brendan had.

"I don't understand." He sounds incredibly child like, like a little lost boy.

Brendan feels like he's destroying something vulnerable, doesn't understand why this is making him feel so uncomfortable too, like he's having the life sucked out of him. It shouldn't be _this_ difficult.

He can almost see what's going through Steven's mind right now, can see the word _kid_ echoing in there, like he's never escaped Terry at all. Brendan wants to take it back, but it feels too late. The only thing to do now is dig the knife in deeper.

"I'm going to move out."

Steven scratches his neck like Brendan's words have buried themselves under his skin, and he's trying to desperately get rid of them.

"Is this...is this some kind of joke, Brendan?"

"I'll speak to Tony today, try and sort something out. A transfer or something."

"Why?" Steven says, comes out hollowly like all the emotion has already left him.

Brendan goes towards his bed, starts rearranging things, taking his clothes from his drawers and putting them down on the sheets.

"What - what are you doing?" Steven seems to have had a sudden burst of energy and he's panicking now, has jumped into life. He follows Brendan around the room like if he can just keep him within eyesight then he can stop this.

"Got to get my things together."

Brendan had expected this to be like ending things with Vincent all over again, had _wanted_ it to feel like that, because it was familiar.

But this is new territory, something that he's never experienced before. It's not meant to be like this.

"This is crazy! Everything was fine. We were...we're together!" Steven stares at him with frantic eyes.

_Together._

He's not giving up as easily as Brendan had hoped. Steven had been so distant with him before that Brendan had believed he'd let go of this thing without this much of a struggle, that it wouldn't feel like a fight. He'd never expected the boy to cling onto him, _physically_ cling onto him, grab a hold of his arm so that Brendan has to shake him off to be free.

"You're just being a bastard, aren't you? You're just testing how far you can go with me, and I get that Brendan, alright? I get it, but you have to stop now."

Brendan shakes his head at him as if he's in disbelief at the sheer neediness that's coming out of Steven's mouth. As if it disgusts him.

"Get out of my way." He doesn't wait for Steven to follow his instruction, just shoves past him and continues to gather his things.

"Just tell me what I've done wrong."

He can't keep up with it, the way that Steven's veering from hurt to anger and back again. The boy doesn't seem to understand his own reactions himself, looks as fragile as Brendan's ever seen him.

He _must_ know what he's done wrong, otherwise Steven's the psychopath that Brendan never thought he was.

He doesn't reply, tries to ignore Steven's existence but it's impossible to do. He can't not be aware of his presence in the room, can't not listen to the way that Steven's breathing erratically now, sounds like he's having a panic attack. Brendan's first instinct is to reach out and comfort him, to try and stop the pain even though he's causing it.

He'd rather smash his fist into a million glass mirrors than have to do this.

Steven stands in front of him and blocks his escape.

"Whatever it is we can fix it. There's nothing we can't do."

Jesus, the boy thinks they're invincible. Brendan hates that a part of him thinks he's right.

"You're just scared, aren't you?" Steven's grappling for answers, for explanations to all this. "You told me about your dad, and you're scared now."

Brendan doesn't get scared. Not anymore.

He allows himself to stand closer to the boy. It feels dangerous but it's important to make sure that this message sinks in loud and clear. Steven can't be doubtful about this, can't continue thinking that he's a _good_ person. He'll never be good, tried to be once before the world let him down, but has never been able to try since.

He's lost that ability, and he's grateful for it sometimes. It allows him to break peoples hearts and not allow him to hurt, because he doesn't have one.

"I'm not scared. Now run along to your little friends, Steven. Be with Douglas instead."

"You want me to go back to Doug? Is that what you really want?

"You know what I really want?"

Steven opens his mouth to protest, but Brendan's not going to let him.

"What I want is to pick up a bloke that isn't you. Like I did today, like I'm going to do tomorrow, and the day after that and the day after that until you get the message."

Steven's crying now, tears which sparkle and roll down his cheeks like diamonds.

"You were with someone else?" He whispers it, sounding like there's something clogging up his throat.

"There's always a guy, Steven. One who isn't you."

Brendan has never hated someone more than he hates himself now. It takes every ounce of self control not to brush away Steven's tears and repair the damage he's done.

He tries to keep Steven's betrayal alive in his head, otherwise this is impossible. _Steven did this_, he caused this and now he has to pay the price. Brendan thought this would feel like victory, nothing sweeter than revenge. Only it turns out revenge feels black, dark. Dead.

"Okay." Steven rubs at his eyes with his sleeve, looking more childlike than ever. "Okay," he repeats, seems like he's talking to himself more than to Brendan. "Leave then."

Even when crying Steven looks beautiful, his eyelashes thicker than their usual state, his blue eyes shining. He's staring at Brendan with detachment now like everything's been replaced with numbness, and Brendan needs that, feels good that Steven's managing to let him go, but there's a sudden strong desire for him to hold onto Steven, to stop this from slipping out of his grasp, and he has no idea where it comes from.

It makes it easier when Steven opens the door, gestures to Brendan to get out. He reckons the boy would kick him out himself if he could, would push him to the floor and spit on him, but he looks like he's trying to retain some of the dignity that he has left, that Brendan hasn't already taken from him.

He thinks this is it, thinks he's going to walk out of the door and ask for a transfer, last time he'll ever be alone in the room with Steven. He knows he'll be able to convince Tony, it's not a question of that. In the few seconds that it takes him to walk to the door he feels like he's saying goodbye to something.

But he feels a hand on his arm again, cold this time. It's not right that its lost its warmth, will never be right.

So fucking persistent.

"Brendan, this...it's not right. I don't believe you."

How many times does he have to repeat himself? It's like Steven loves the punishment, is the most masochistic person that Brendan's met. It's almost like he has faith in him, faith in this thing they share, but that _can't_ be it, because he wouldn't have told Walker about Seamus.

Brendan flinches like he's been hit by an electric shock when Steven moves closer to his mouth, his intent clear. He pushes him roughly onto the floor and Steven crashes against the bed, knocking his back on the railing violently.

He cries out in pain, stares up at Brendan in horror like he never thought he could do that to him again.

It's his fault for believing that he could ever be anything better.

"You disgust me." There are tears swimming in Brendan's own eyes when he says it, doesn't know where they came from but they won't leave. They're clouding his vision, but he doesn't dare wipe them away in case Steven notices.

"Don't ever touch me again."

He slams the cell door shut behind him, can hear the sound of Steven releasing a cry when he's gone.


	16. Chapter 16

_Day 42_

* * *

Sleep is the only peace he has now.

When he's shaken awake he blinks at the light, his eyes immediately trying to drift shut again. Things happen when he's asleep. Wonderful, impossible things which never happen when he's conscious. He wants to go back to that place again, where nothing hurts.

The man standing before him won't let him.

Ethan may have been stripped of his policeman's badge, but Ste can see that the intimidation hasn't left him. He's not what he'd called _scary_, is shorter than most of your stereotypical coppers and has a baby face which speaks of not long being fresh out of University, but he knows how to stare someone down.

Ste's not going to be able to go back to sleep knowing that he's there, watching.

"Have you tried throwing pillows at him?"

"We're not five years old," Doug says, is looking at the wall and not directly at Ste to save him from feeling anymore like a rat in a cage.

"Punching him?"

"Ethan!"

"What? It might do him some good. Finally get some life back into him. Might even make him take a shower. I can smell him from here."

Ste sits up in bed at that. He's grown used to them talking about him as if he isn't in the room, but personal insults are a step too far. He sniffs at his t-shirt self consciously. He thinks back to the last time he washed himself from head to toe.

Three days.

He's spent the majority of the time in Doug's cell - _his_ cell - only stepping out of it to have a few mouthfuls of food before returning underneath the covers. Despite Tony's best efforts to make him return to cookery classes, he hasn't been to a single one in weeks.

He feels pathetic, an invalid. He wants to shout at himself to _do_ something, to have the courage and motivation to walk down the hallways again, to be able to visit Amy and not just listen to her talk about the kids and herself, can't share anything about his own life anymore because everything's gone.

Brendan's gone.

Every time he's mentioned it's like a punch to Ste's stomach, a wound that takes longer to heal than the one Brendan left on his back after he pushed him. The bruises took more than a week to go, eventually fading into nothingness. Ste had felt sick when he looked at them; sick because of what Brendan had done, and sick because the bruises were all he had left of him, and he desperately wanted to hold onto _something_.

"Brendan woke me up playing music - I could still be in bed right now," Ethan complains, his voice sounding like a high pitched whining noise that Ste wants to cut out.

Doug beckons Ethan to the corner, thinks he's out of earshot of Ste but he's wrong, he can still hear everything, like they're merely shouting in whispers.

"I'm sorry, but I didn't know who else to ask, okay? I mean I can hardly go to...you know."

"Tache man? Why not? He's the cause of all this mess. He did the same thing to Vinnie, remember? Slept with him, made him all googly eyed and then dumped his arse. Brady seems fucking right as rain, was whistling along to Johnny Cash and doing press ups when I left him. He's probably already beginning to search for his next victim."

"Right, lets have some breakfast," Ste says loudly, tossing back his bedsheets and making a grab for his trainers.

He can't stand to hear anything else.

He's taken to wearing some extremely shabby pajamas that he packed before he came here. He'd never worn them before in his old cell, not when he had someone who he wanted to impress, someone whose opinion meant everything to him.

Ethan and Doug turn round as he changes. Brendan would have watched him the entire time, would have looked him up and down, had Ste kidding himself that he was attractive, desirable. He misses that feeling, has been replaced by so much worthlessness that it feels like it's crippling him.

The moment he leaves the cell he feels panicked, wants to crawl his way back inside. He knows what he has to face when he's out here. Every day that he goes into the dining room he finds Brendan sitting alone, at a different table to his old one. Ste doesn't know what happened between him and Walker, no one does, but they've barely looked at each other lately.

Ste has scanned their faces for signs, to see if a single look has passed between them, has a masochistic desire to know if they're together again now that he and Brendan aren't.

But there's been nothing, and Brendan has never looked up to meet Ste's gaze. He's neglected his entire existence, and something in Ste feels like it's broken. The hope that he had that Brendan would come back to him has died.

His sentence is going to be finished in less than two months. He should be gasping to be released, but it terrifies him. His life feels like it's wrapped up in this place now, and he's not under any illusions as to what that _life_ consists of. One person. One man.

He needs to kill what he's feeling.

It's why Ste makes a beeline for Walker the minute he sees him in the queue. He waits until Ethan and Doug are at their table, hopes that they'll be too caught up in conversation to notice anything suspicious. Talking to Walker _is_ suspicious. No one ever goes to him for idle talk or chit chat.

You go to him for two purposes. To get alcohol. To get fucked.

Ste's got one in mind for today.

"Simon." He lowers his voice, nods his head for Walker to join him away from the crowd of men making a grab for trays and their breakfast.

Walker doesn't hesitate. He smiles at him curiously, and Ste's aware of his eyes traveling over his body when he turns around, can guess which area in particular his gaze is directed to.

He feels himself blush.

Walker waits for him to begin the conversation. A rare first.

Ste cuts to the chase. He's not in the mood for _how was your day, isn't the weather nice, that's a lovely top you're wearing. _He's never in the mood for that anymore, can't remember a time when he didn't feel this fucking miserable and bitter at the world, like he'd happily light a match and watch it explode.

"I heard you can get people booze."

Walker raises his eyebrows. Ste thinks he should get some kind of award for surprising a man who's unshockable.

"Is this for you?"

"Might be."

_I plan on getting shitfaced, and you're the man with the keys to the kingdom._

"How did you hear about what I do?"

"People talk." Ste had overheard a group of lads discussing the moonshine they'd got from Walker, had tasted like the real thing according to them.

He'd thought nothing of it at the time, had no intention of getting involved in anything like that. He didn't want to forget, did he? He wanted to remember _everything_, every dirty laugh, every lopsided smile, every movement across his skin, every stroke of his moustache.

Now he's going to bury those memories and let them go up in flames.

"Can you get me some?" Ste asks, isn't so much a question as a demand.

"Yes."

He breathes a small sigh of relief, already beginning to feel some of the pain in his chest numbing.

"At a price."

Fucking Walker.

"I don't have any money." His allowance from participating in cookery classes has already dried up. "Please, Simon." He croons it, _Simon_, and sees Walker falling for it, his tongue all but hanging out of his mouth.

Before Ste came here he'd never had to use his sexuality in such a way, would never have dreamed of using it to manipulate. Brendan has taught him that sex is power, that his body is something that he can use to get him the things he wants.

He feels a sudden sense of strength that's been so desperately lacking ever since Brendan transferred out of his cell and his life.

"Okay sweetheart."

Ste lets out the closest thing to a smile that he's had in weeks.

"But there is one condition. Not cash -" he says when Ste's about to protest. "You."

Ste's Adam's apple bobs up and down, feels like it's trying to escape from his body it's so damn strained, and Walker watches the movement with dark eyes.

"Simon, I don't...I told you, I'm not going to sleep with you."

Walker lets out one of his customary high laughs, looks at Ste as if he's his entertainment that's been wheeled in from the circus. "Oh darling, you're not suggesting that I was saying -" He breaks off to laugh again. "Gosh no!"

Ste looks at him in confusion, is sure that he must be flushing. Going weeks without being with Brendan has made the shyness return to him. He can't believe the things he did to him, the things that he allowed to be done to him. It belongs to another Ste from a different lifetime now.

"That's a very presumptuous thing to say, Ste. Thinking that I want to fuck you." Walker takes a step closer, staring so intently at his lips that it makes Ste's heart hammer a mile a minute.

For one single second he's sure that Walker's about to kiss him, and there's nowhere to run.

"Yeah well you did in the past, didn't you?"

"Perhaps I've changed. I just hope there are no hard feelings between us."

Ste rolls his eyes. "No Simon, I don't think I'll top myself because you don't want me."

"No, I mean about you and Brendan. About _me_ and Brendan."

Ste wonders whether he's digging up the past on purpose. Walker must have laughed at how clueless he'd been, how Brendan had lied to him and he'd been too stupid to figure it out.

"Nah. Ancient history, isn't it?" He tries to sound unaffected but ends up reminding himself of Lucas when he's in a sulk.

"Good. Not that I don't enjoy when you're angry with me."

Ste doesn't sense he's joking. Whatever he does seems to be a come on to Walker, more so if he tries to reject him and strenuously deny there's nothing there. There's excitement in his eyes now, looks like he's fucking loving this.

"Are you going to give me the booze or not?" If Walker enjoys him being mouthy then that's what he's going to get.

"Will you spend a night in my cell? Just you and me, drinking. Nothing else, I promise."

"For some reason I don't trust your promises," Ste says wryly.

Walker is like the masked man in a horror film who protests his innocence,_ I promise I won't hurt you, _before he sticks the knife in and twists it deeply.

"Please. I'm on my own there without Fox, and I'm ever so lonely."

Ste laughs then, sounds so strange to his ears that he almost believes it hasn't come from him. It's _Walker's_ fault, staring at him with a mock sad expression, his lips puckered to give him the appearance of a stroppy child, or perhaps a very large fish.

"Alright," Ste says, still finds he's laughing and doesn't know whether it feels good or frightening. "Just...give it to me now, yeah? Then I'll come to yours tonight."

_Yours_. Like he's going round to Walker's house to watch a film and drink some wine. Like it's a fucking date.

Oh God.

"You want it now? It's not even ten o'clock."

Ste is sick of all these questions. He's had what feels like thousands already from Doug and Ethan. _What happened with you and Brendan, why did he switch cells, did he hurt you? _Every time he sees Amy he has to dodge her onslaught, _you look so tired, are you not sleeping? You've lost weight Ste. You don't look happy._

He doesn't want to have to defend himself anymore.

"I need it," he answers honestly.

For a moment he thinks Walker's going to take back his offer, is going to turn against him like everyone else has. That he's going to try and be some kind of good fucking samaritan and do what's_ right _for him, as though anyone knows what that is better than Ste.

He'd momentarily forgotten that Walker isn't like everyone else. What's _right_ and what's _best_ isn't of importance of him.

"Give me twenty minutes and I'll get it for you. Can you make Doug scarce in your cell?"

Ste nods eagerly. The last thing he wants is for Doug to be there and give him a lecture. Doug has Lynsey, has someone who gives him a reason to want to wake up every morning. Ste's relying on that to distract him.

Walker holds his hand out, binding their agreement. Another contract that he wants Ste to sign.

He has very little to lose anymore.

He shakes his hand, lets Walker hold onto him strictly longer than necessary, and walks to his table with a new sense of determination and resolve.

When he sits down beside Ethan and Doug he tortures himself with a last look at Brendan across the dining room. He's staring resolutely down at the plate in front of him, looks like he doesn't have a care in the fucking world.

Ste plans on never seeing that face clearly again.

Moonshine will be his drug of choice, a break from this reality that he so desperately craves.

A fuck you to Brendan Brady.

* * *

He'd never realised how funny Doug is before.

The way he moves. The stories he tells. Even his eyebrows seem incredibly amusing. Ste reaches out a hand and tries to brush his thumb over one.

"Ste, what are you doing?"

"Just come here, you. Let me touch -"

He doesn't understand what the problem is.

Doug moves out of reach on the bed. Ste had been leaning against his shoulder, and suddenly he's falling, nearly slipping to the floor.

He lets out a booming laugh, giggles and claps his hands joyfully.

"Shit. You're drunk, aren't you?"

"Shhhhhh," he says, puts a fingers over his lips like they're sharing a secret.

"Oh God, Ste. Let me guess - Walker's special concoction?"

"It's dead fruity." Suddenly his accent sounds more pronounced than ever. He can't speak properly. _Fruitehhhhhhhh_.

"You don't even know what it's made out of! It could be anything."

"Whatever it is, it's proper mint. Going to have some more of that, me."

Now that Doug knows his game he goes into his hiding place, making a grab for the bottle of moonshine in his drawer.

"No you don't." Doug reaches for it firmly, and Ste whines at the loss of it.

Turns out Doug Carter's no fun after all.

"Gimme it back!"

"No. You're in no fit state to be drinking anymore. I should have known when you came into the room calling yourself the king of the world."

"Well I am, aren't I? King of the fucking world!" Ste shouts, and Doug covers a hand over his mouth, pulling him back to the bed.

"You're going to get one of the guards in here if you're not careful."

"Awwww." Ste squeezes Doug's cheeks. "Always so protective of me, aren't you? Proper good friend you are, Dougie."

"I'm not sure I trust you on that right now," Doug says with a reluctant grin, putting the bottle right at the back of the drawer, as if Ste's a toddler and can't reach that far.

"No, it's true," Ste insists, linking his arm through Doug's. "I know I've been difficult at times, what with me telling you off for shagging your teacher and all, but I love you."

Doug nods at him indulgently. "Well I'm fond of you too."

Ste smiles at him. The only person he has in here. The only person he can trust.

In one smooth motion he moves forward, pushing his lips against Doug's.

He feels a hand on his chest, forcing him to move away.

"What?" Ste demands, doesn't understand why he's being so _difficult_.

"It's not that I'm not flattered - you're a nice guy Ste, but -"

"Don't worry about Lynsey. I'll never tell her." He moves forward on the bed again, can only focus on the fullness of Doug's mouth.

"Ste!" Again, that hand restraining him. Fucking hell. "There's just a small, teeny tiny problem with this situation."

"Do you not have any condoms?" Ste asks, confused.

"I'm not gay."

Ste laughs. "That's okay, Dougie. I didn't think I was gay either, did I? I have two kids, me. Slept with Amy, and Rae, and they were proper good and everything, even at - you know -" He makes his hand into a fist gesture, moving it back and forth over his mouth, then giggles again, delighted with his own joke. "I just thought I slept with blokes on the weekends, that's all."

"Right. Like a kind of hobby, like football or something."

Ste has the strangest feeling that Doug's taking the piss out of him.

"Right," he stumbles. "Like football. And then I came here and met him, didn't I? And he was _really_ good. I mean really fucking good -"

"Alright, I don't need the details," Doug laughs.

"What I'm saying is, I could be your Brendan, couldn't I?"

"Ste." Doug lays a hand on his shoulder, speaks to him like he's a particularly delicate child, like he's trying to soothe him with his words. "I'm in love with Lynsey."

"Love's overrated mate."

Doug looks at him gently. "This isn't what I want. And I don't think it's what you want either."

Ste senses that he's not going to see Doug's cock anytime soon. He gets off the bed, flings his arms about angrily, feels weary and so _old_ all of a sudden, like he's had enough of the world already.

"I just want to have fun, don't I? I just want to sleep with someone, and -"

"You want Brendan."

"No," he protests angrily. Who the fuck is Doug to say that to him?

"Believe me, I don't understand why you do either. But it's pretty obvious. I know that he ended things, and I know you must be gutted."

"No. I don't want to see his stupid moustache face ever again. Do you know what he said to me?" Ste lowers his voice, imitates Brendan's Irish accent. "You disgust me. Don't ever touch me again."

Doug doesn't look remotely surprised by this news.

Ste laughs hysterically. "Well you know what Brendan, you can do one. The only thing you ever did was break my heart. And now he's not even here, not even with me, and he's still doing it."

He walks towards Doug, needs him to feel his urgency when he says this.

"You know what my advice would be to people, Dougie boy? Don't ever fall in love, because it'll ruin you. Ruin your life."

"You're in love with him?"

Doug says it as if he's asking something entirely different. _You killed him?_

"Nah." Ste hiccups and curses himself when realising his mistake. He wasn't meant to say that. "Just, you know, in a hypoth - hypoth -"

"Hypothetical?"

"That's the one! In a hypothetical situation." He's pleased with himself. That ought to show Doug. He's not_ in love _with Brendan. "I hate him. He can rot in hell for all I care. Fucking Brendan. Thinks he's so high and mighty just because he's good in bed."

"Yeah Ste, about not wanting those details -"

"Just because he's got a big willy he thinks he's some kind of mafia boss. Well sorry to disappoint you Brendan, but I don't give a shit. He can go and shag every man in this place and I won't even bat an eyelid, will I?"

"I don't know -"

"That reminds me," Ste reaches into the drawer, grabs the moonshine and swigs it back before Doug can stop him. "You know what Brendan used to say about my eyelashes? Used to say I look like a cartoon character. Said _you're just like that Bambi Steven, a man shouldn't be able to grow eyelashes that long_. Well fuck you Brendan, I'm going to grow my eyelashes even longer now, fucking bastard."

He can see Doug rubbing his hand against his forehead, eyes downcast.

"I'm going to fuck someone right in front of him, and make him watch."

"Probably not the best idea..."

"You sure you don't want us to have sex, Dougie?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure."

"Because I don't think Brendan likes you, and that would be a proper fuck you to him, wouldn't it? We could go to his cell and just lie down on the bed and -"

"Ste. Teeny tiny problem, remember?"

"Ah yeah, you don't like willies, do you? Small detail," he says, laughs again because he's the funniest man alive, a fucking comedian and should be given awards for it.

"I know it doesn't feel like it right now, but you're better off without him. Brendan's toxic, a lowlife."

"Any more cliches to be added to that? Want to tell me_ I told you so_?"

The room's spinning, and he holds onto the wall to stop himself from falling.

"See, even now you're defending him. This is what he does to people. He gets into their heads, screws them up."

"Yeah but he trusted me, didn't he? I meant something to him, I know I did." He feels suddenly tearful. Fucking moonshine. "He told me all about his dad."

"What do you mean? The murder?"

"Yeah. Yeah, the murder."

The hiccups are coming thick and fast now.

"He told me he cheated on me, you know? Told me _there's always a guy. One who isn't you._"

"There usually is with Brendan," Doug says uncomfortably.

"Did you see anything? See him with someone else?"

"Of course not. I would of told you."

"Funny how he didn't mind having sex with me even when there was someone else." He snorts. "I thought we were alright. I forgave him after he lied to me. I wanted to be with him."

"You had a lucky escape. It's not long till you're released now. What were you going to do, come and visit him every week for the rest of your life?"

Ste doesn't know what to say to that, opens his mouth but all that comes out is incoherent mumbling. He doesn't know _what_ he had planned to do. He had hated thinking that far ahead, because the thought of leaving Brendan had been impossible.

Brendan made that decision for him. It should have cleared his head, made the idea of leaving that much easier, but he feels more confused than ever.

Going back to having one night stands with strangers is completely unthinkable to him now. He's glimpsed that other life where he felt like he was someone's entire world, and a string of meaningless encounters with nameless men is going to feel woefully inadequate.

The idea of looking for a _boyfriend_ makes him feel even worse.

Brendan was that one chance.

Unless...

"Where are you going?" Doug asks, alarmed when Ste heads towards the door.

He's got a date with the devil.

* * *

There's a new boy on the block.

Dirty blonde hair. Wide, staring eyes as he takes in the lay of the land. A tracksuit. Scuffed trainers. A skinny body.

Sent from Satan himself to tempt him.

His name's Kevin Foster, and Brendan follows him around like he's leaving a trail of breadcrumbs in his wake.

Someone will need to teach the lad the ropes, to show him what's what in here. He's only too delighted to take on that task. It'll be his _pleasure_.

Brendan can immediately tell that Kevin's interested in him. He blushes when Brendan leans in close, looks at him in awe like every boy that Brendan's ever fucked has. He knows it won't take long, that he can get Kevin into his bed at lightning speed.

It'll be more problematic now that he's sharing a cell with Ethan, but not impossible. They can come to some sort of agreement, tell the ex copper to make himself scarce while Brendan shows Kevin the sights. His sights.

Kevin's joined Tony's cookery class, can't cook worth a damn but he's a trier, Brendan will give him that. Even when he burns the macaroni and cheese he still perseveres, makes it look even worse than it already did, but Brendan finds himself admiring the boy's determination.

"I'm guessing you don't cook much for the girlfriend, eh?" He asks, leaning against the counter, idly watching while Silas samples some macaroni behind Tony's back.

"I don't have a girlfriend," Kevin replies shyly.

Bingo.

"Sorry. Boyfriend?" Brendan jokes, not truly joking at all.

Kevin laughs nervously, shuffles his feet on the floor. It reminds Brendan of something.

Someone.

"Who says I'm..."

"Just a question." His voice is low, and he speaks right in Kevin's ear now, making his intentions clear.

Games can be fun, but he doesn't have time to play them now. He's not a person who waits around for someone. Except for...well, there was someone once, someone he would have waited a lifetime for. But not anymore.

"I don't have a boyfriend either."

Not that that would have meant he couldn't go there, but at least it's less of a complication. He opens his mouth again, plans to invite Kevin to spend some _alone time _in his cell that night, when he's interrupted.

"Brendan, can I have a word?"

Fucking hell. Never any peace in this damn place.

He gives Kevin a strained smile and follows Tony to the corner of the classroom. He tries to think about what particular rule that he's broken lately is getting him into trouble this time. It's a long list.

"I was wondering if you'd spoken to Ste lately?"

Brendan focuses on Kevin, who's now finding even more ways to burn the macaroni. Cute.

"Not since our last picnic, no."

"It's just...I've tried to get him to come back to class quite a few times now, and I've still not had any luck. You two seemed close, and -"

"Correction, Anthony. We were partners, brought together in this little class of yours. That's all."

Kevin's looking round in a panic now after dropping half of the dish.

"Right. Of course. But I thought maybe you could have a word with him. He had real talent, Brendan."

Yeah. Brendan knows first hand how talented the boy is.

It's something he's trying to forget.

"Get one of your other lackies to do it. Ethan, Douglas." He's already heading back to the table, back to Kevin.

Tony lets him leave, knows from experience now that it's futile to try and make Brendan do anything.

Brendan can still feel his eyes on him though, hear the word _talent_ reverberate in his head. He can still remember the taste of Steven's food. He can still remember the taste of him.

He runs the tap and gets a cup of water, swirls it around in his mouth and then spits in out into the sink. He wants to get the taste out.

"Are you in trouble?" Kevin asks, grinning. Jesus. He's _flirting_ with him. Didn't take him long.

"Nothing I can't handle. Speaking of handling things, you want to come to my cell tonight?"

He's being bolder than he's ever been. He's almost embarrassed at how obvious he is. He at least had some class with Vincent and Macca, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

He thinks for a moment that Kevin's going to say no. He's running out of options. There aren't many other boys here that are in their twenties, skinny as fuck and that remind him of...

There aren't many others.

"Yeah." The kid sounds nervous as hell. "Yeah, okay."

Tonight he's going to kill what he's feeling. A fuck you to Steven Hay.

* * *

Kevin's stretched out on his bed. When he'd first walked into the room Brendan had looked at his back of his head, had been shocked at the resemblance. It's easy to think that it's Steven in here, and that nothing's ever changed.

The illusion is destroyed somewhat when he turns around, when Kevin opens his mouth and the voice isn't the same. Not even close.

He hasn't got him naked, not yet. The lad's still too tightly wound for that. A virgin when it comes to things being stuck in his arse, Brendan can tell. If he moves too quickly then there's the chance that the boy will run, and will be too scared to ever come back.

He needs to soothe his resistance, make him warm to the idea of having Brendan's cock in him slowly. He's got the evening finely tuned, expertly planned. A toe curling blowjob ought to make Kevin feel more at ease. It's never failed him yet. Then he'll get the boy's arse open to him, let the boy fuck himself on Brendan's loose and wet fingers. He'll let him become used to the size and proportions of Brendan's cock, allow him to adjust to the idea of it being inside him.

Then he'll fuck him.

It's difficult to get a hard on when Kevin's so fucking _boring_ though. Not even that hot little body is doing it for him right now, and he's already entertaining the idea of jerking himself off to get him going.

He doesn't know what's bothering him so much. It doesn't matter what the boy _talks_ about. That's not why he's here, that's not what this is all about. Brendan didn't bring him here for good conversation, he brought him here to get his first shag in weeks.

Steven had always talked far too much, talked like it was an olympic sport and he was a world class athlete. It was hard to get him to shut up when he got started. He seemed to be able to start a conversation about anything. He could make the damn weather sound exciting.

It had comforted him, the sound of Steven's voice. He'd never expected to describe that accent as _charming_, but against all odds it was. It was one of the many endearing things about the little git.

Fucking hell.

There's got to be more out there than him, something _better_. The sex was good - the sex was amazing - but he can get that again. He _will_ get that again.

He's going to do this.

Brendan reaches in his drawer for a condom.

"Shit."

"What's wrong?" Kevin asks, rolling over on the bed.

"Give me five minutes."

He's going to make sure that he stocks up properly this time, to avoid another encounter with Walker. He thinks about avoiding it altogether, but he can't risk fucking the kid bareback.

He walks quickly to Walker's cell, anxious to get back to his own. He's been offered counselling in here, therapy. What these shrinks don't understand is that this _is_ his therapy.

When he stops by the cell he looks through the screen window. He knows what Walker's like, will either be fucking an officer or some lad in there, and it's not something he wants to walk into.

Steven's inside, sitting on Walker's bed beside him.

He's avoided looking directly at him ever since he transferred out of the cell, but he can't bring himself to look away now.

Several things happen to his body. He feels a dull, throbbing ache somewhere square in his chest. He becomes very, very cold, feels like someone's just opened the doors and it's the dead of winter, and he's got no defense against it. He feels like he can't swallow, and when he manages to his throat is constricted, tight.

He's never felt this way before, but he knows what it is.

He gives himself to the count of ten to walk away and return to Kevin, to start the boy off with a blowjob until he gets some new supplies.

At the count of a hundred he's still standing by the door.

* * *

Ste tips the moonshine back then smiles at Walker approvingly, some of the alcohol spilling down his chin.

"You like it?"

"You should win some kind of award, you. I'm serious!" Ste says when Walker laughs. "We should have some kind of competition right, and you can win and wear a tiara."

"I think you mean a crown, sweetheart."

"No. A tiara," he insists.

"Does that make me a queen?" Walker teases, leans back on the bed and watches Ste through hooded eyes.

"Maybe."

"A queen needs a king, you know."

"That's me!" He shouts joyfully. Finally, someone _gets_ it. "King of the word!" It's all making perfect sense.

It feels so _good_ to be like this. Walker's not judging him, not looking at him like he's something breakable. He feels stronger in his presence.

"You do realise that if you continue being this adorable then I'm going to have to take advantage of you?"

Ste thinks he's only half joking.

"What do you think I came here for?" He's _not_ joking.

Walker stares at him thoughtfully, looks like he's weighing something up in his mind.

"You're far too drunk for _that_."

"No," Ste argues stubbornly.

"Okay - recite the alphabet for me."

"Easy!" He clears his throat like he's about to say something of importance. "A, B, C, D, F, E, G, H, J, K -

Walker takes the moonshine from him, sips at it and laughs. "Better luck next time, darling."

"I thought you were fun." Ste grumbles, leans back on the bed so that he's closer to Walker.

He doesn't know how he can make his intentions any more obvious. He wants to get fucked. This is what Walker has been waiting for ever since he first arrived.

Unless he disgusts him too.

"I told you, I'm not a rapist."

"And I told _you_, I want it. I want you to sleep with me."

Walker sighs and runs a single finger over Ste's lips, then begins to trace them with his thumb.

"This is killing me."

Not so disgusted then.

"Then just do it," Ste pleads.

"You didn't sign my contract."

"Forget about your stupid contract. I'll sign it tomorrow if you're so bothered. Just...fuck me now. _Please_, Simon."

His begging is working. Walker's pupils are blown wide, and he looks at him with a dark intent.

"Is this about Brendan?"

_Why_ must people say his name?

"No. This is about _you_. What you can do to me."

Walker's _so close_, he can feel it. Any moment now his resistance is going to snap, and he's going to kiss him.

"What do you want me to do?" It comes out as a pant.

Ste smiles, feeling the spark of a flame igniting which he hasn't felt in weeks.

"Show me what you want."

Ste frowns. "What do you mean?"

"_Show me_," Walker repeats.

He gets it then.

Ste hoists his bum off the bed, and wriggles out of his tracksuit bottoms. He knows he _should_ feel self conscious like this, but the alcohol's giving him strength, encouraging him into going further, pushing his boundaries.

The way Walker's looking at him makes him feel wanted again.

Ste starts by rubbing over the fabric of his boxers, gradually beginning to make the material tent. He closes his eyes, partly to stop the room spinning and partly to imagine that it's another man looking at him, a man who once made him feel alive.

He's breathing loudly now, wonders if he should feel ashamed for being this open, but he only came here for one reason, and he's not leaving until he gets what he needs.

"You're so fucking beautiful," Walker says, and it sounds like it's coming from a distance, as if his voice is only a whisper. "I want to _see_ you."

Ste obeys, stills his movements and peels his underwear off. His cock bounces up and he takes hold of it once again, moaning at the feel of skin against skin that's there now, at that delicious friction.

"You like this, Ste? Getting yourself off like this while I watch you?"

"Mmmmm." he hums, because he _does_. It's exciting, a change from the dead feeling that's been following him around everywhere he goes.

It reminds him of being back in bed with Brendan again, touching himself while the older man had looked on.

He hisses when he rubs his thumb over the slit of his cock, the pre cum swiping against his hand.

"Do you want me to suck it?"

Ste can hear the bed squeak, can hear the sound of Walker leaning forward, closer to his open legs.

"Yeah."

It's time to kill that love inside of him.


	17. Chapter 17

He's going to lose him forever.

Brendan sees Walker look at Steven with the same raw desire that he feels towards the boy. What Walker doesn't understand is everything else that comes with someone like Steven. His vulnerability. His insecurities. The boy doesn't understand his own abilities, his own intelligence. It may not be of the text book variety, but he's a quick thinker when he wants to be.

Brendan knows that Walker's never seen that smile, that smile that Steven does that seems to be reserved just for him. That tells him that Brendan's his whole world, that this is exactly where he wants to be.

Wanted to be.

Walker's _so_ close, tip of his tongue darting out, his knees wriggling forward on the bed sheet. Brendan can see Steven's cock, beautiful and erect, but none of his old thoughts enter his mind - _Jesus that boy's perfect _- and his trousers don't even stir.

He feels too wound up for that, like he can't fucking breathe and he's going to tear out of his own skin, must do with the amount of rage that he's feeling.

He can feel Steven slipping away with each movement that Walker makes closer to him, is so distanced from Brendan now that they may as well be on different continents. It was what he wanted, or told himself that he _needed_, but he isn't in such strong denial that he hasn't acknowledged his small efforts to keep the boy close in these last few weeks.

Every time that Steven thinks he's not looking he keeps an eye on him, hasn't yet decided what he'd prefer to see on the boy's face, happiness or misery. He aches for happiness, needs it for Steven more than he craves his own, but misery would suggest that this is as hard for him as it is for Brendan. A part of him wants that, wants to think that he's had as big an effect on Steven's life as he has on his.

He wants Steven to miss him.

Brendan can hear Walker through the door, fucking noisy bastard, hasn't even got his lips on Steven's cock yet and he's already moaning, _Mmmmhmmmm_ like a low, rumbling hum, like Steven's the best thing he's ever devoured.

He will be, and Brendan knows that once he gets a taste he's going to come back. He won't ever have his fill. No one ever could.

He couldn't walk away now even if he wanted to. All thoughts of Kevin back in his cell are permanently erased from his mind. Even when he's not _with_ Steven he takes up all his head space, is something that Brendan has had to adjust to. Everyday until he's in his grave he'll always be there.

He can't control his next reaction.

He sees Walker's lips close around the head of Steven's cock, just beginning to wet the foreskin, and Brendan's hammering on the door like a madman, must look fucking crazy but he doesn't care, he needs to be inside that room and get Steven as far away from Walker as possible.

He can see Steven jolt from inside, clearly wasn't expecting them to have visitors. It reminds Brendan of when they were in the cell together, when Walker walked in on _them_, and he wonders how the hell they reached this point. It should be him inside that room right now, shouldn't be watching the man he wants become Walker's next victim like this.

His hand has healed from where he smashed it into the mirror weeks ago, but he's making a fresh wound all over again. He doesn't register the pain, just smashes it against the door over and over again. Walker's stopped, has leaned back on his heels but it's not enough, not even close to what Brendan needs to happen. He won't feel safe until he's beside Steven.

He knows that his persistence will pay off, can see Walker torn between his desire not to let Brendan in and his knowledge that the guards will be altered to the noise. As much as Walker loves theatrics, he doesn't want to cause this kind of scene, not when he has a half naked boy on his bed.

It's only then as he scours the room that he notices the bottle on the floor.

Brendan bangs even louder then, _let me in Simon_, a thousand different painful scenarios running through his head.

He prays that Steven wouldn't be stupid enough to drink moonshine. For himself to do it is one thing, but the boy's got his whole life ahead of him. Last thing he needs is to get caught and have more time added to his sentence.

When Walker opens the door he pushes past him forcefully, nearly knocks the man off his feet. Steven's sitting awkwardly on the bed, is covering a pillow over his groin, cheeks flushed bright pink.

"Put your clothes on." It's a demand, and if Steven doesn't do it then Brendan's going to do it for him.

The boy shakes his head. He's being challenging _now_ of all times?

"Steven. Put. Your. Clothes. On." He speaks it through gritted teeth, isn't willing to have his patience tested tonight.

"You can't just barge in here." His speech is slurred around the edges, eyes unfocused.

Brendan grabs his arm urgently, ignoring him when he lets out a high pitched _ow!_

"Are you drunk?"

"Get off me!"

"Answer the question!"

"Brendan, you heard the boy. Get off him."

Brendan had momentarily forgotten that he and Steven aren't alone in the room.

He turns round to face Walker, picture of calm as fucking usual, even when sporting an erection through the length of his trousers.

He's getting off on this. On all of this.

He loves the panic, the anger, the danger, the illicitness.

Sick bastard.

"How could you do that?"

"What makes you think I did anything?" Fucking glint in his eye like he holds all the cards here, knows a secret which Brendan doesn't.

"You run the whole fucking moonshine operation in this place, Simon." He's trying to kid a kidder, can't keep it up and he knows it, his face morphing into a smile as he regards Brendan, Steven still clutching that pillow stubbornly behind them.

"I didn't make the lad do anything he didn't want to do, Brendan. Now if you don't mind, I'm a little busy here..."

Brendan snarls, shoves Walker square in the chest, deserves it for not caring about _anything_, for not even considering whether Steven would still want this in the morning, waking up with a hangover and Walker lying next to him.

Steven's still unmoving, is staring at him indignantly, bottom lip jutting out in the way that used to make Brendan want to take it between his teeth and suck on the flesh. He doesn't even entertain the idea now, can't stand for Walker to witness anything between them, feels like he's infringing on something private. He may not have had Steven for weeks but he's still _his_, still feels like this thing between them hasn't been completely severed. It's hanging on by a thread but it's still _there_.

"I swear to God, if you don't put your clothes on now I'm going to carry you out of this room naked," Brendan warns.

It looks like Steven's about to defy him, but slowly and reluctantly he leans forward and picks up his trousers and boxers. He looks at Brendan, clearly telling him with his eyes that it isn't his place to look anymore, and he turns around to give the boy some privacy, manhandles Simon so he's facing away too when he makes no movement to cast his eyes adrift.

He can hear Walker laughing in front of him as he faces the wall, see him make a satisfied smirk.

"Alright, you got what you wanted," Steven mutters, and Brendan looks again, feels relief flooding through him now that Walker's not drinking in the sight of him unclothed.

Once upon a time he had planned on never letting anyone but himself see Steven like that. He feels like the boy's been violated in some way.

"Right, you're coming with me." He grabs Steven by the arm, ignores the boy's protests.

Walker reaches out his hand, makes a movement to free Steven from his hold but Brendan's prepared to see him on the floor before that happens. He pushes him away, his eyes blazing with the promise of further aggression if he dares to overrule this.

"I'll deal with you later," he tells him, desperately wants to deal with him _now_, but Walker can wait, and Steven can't.

"I look forward to it," Walker replies with a wink, waves to Steven as Brendan continues pushing him towards the door.

The boy's resistance is high, he's shouting _get off me _and wriggling under Brendan's grip, trying to wrestle his way out of his vice like hold.

He's going to tire himself out if he keeps this up. It's a pointless struggle.

Brendan initially guides him towards the direction of his own cell, then realises what will be waiting for him when they get there. _Kevin_. He doesn't want Steven to see the lad lying on his bed, knows exactly how it looks, and he doesn't need to give Steven any more of a reason to be as difficult as fuck.

Instead he maneuverers Steven towards his cell, makes Douglas jump when they crash through the door, Steven still trying his hardest to escape.

"What the hell happened?"

Brendan ignores him, lies Steven down on the bed, pushes the boy back there when he immediately tries to get up again and make a run for the door.

"I should have known he was with you. Should have known that even in this state you would still take advantage of him."

The Yank's like an ongoing headache in Brendan's skull, thinks he always knows the score, takes the moral high ground on everything like _of course_ Brendan couldn't possibly be trying to do what's right.

"You shouldn't even be near him after the way you treated him -"

"He was with Walker, Douglas."

That takes the wind out of his sails. He stares from Brendan to Steven, those blue eyes of his trying to determine what's real and what's not.

"Walker?"

"Yes, Walker. Go to his cell if you don't believe me. You can probably still smell the Lynx," he sighs. The way Steven's covered in it suggests a date rather than a night spent drinking brewed alcohol and getting a blowjob.

Some of the animosity fades from Douglas's face. "Is he okay? Walker didn't hurt him, did he?"

"I am here you know!" Steven barks, but Brendan knows he's in no position to reassure them of anything right now. The Steven he knew would never have gone to Walker's cell like that, would never have put himself in such a vulnerable position. Brendan can't equate the man he kissed and fucked and cared about with the man lying stretched out on Walker's bed, willing to give his body away that freely.

"Douglas, give us some space won't you?"

That sparks the lad up again, turns into a moody fucker whenever Brendan's in his presence.

"No way. What Ste needs right now is to go to bed and sleep it off. You should get out of here, I can take care of him."

Brendan relents his position in towering over Steven, keeps him within his eyesight still in case he decides to make a run for it, but moves towards Douglas, looks at him like he's a fleck of dirt on his shoe.

"I need to be alone with Steven."

Douglas shakes his head, crossing his arms like he thinks they're a barrier to Brendan hurting him.

"And leave you alone with him to act out your perverted fantasies when he can't fight back? No."

Brendan laughs, sounds high and strange to his ears, the irony not lost on him that _he's_ the one being accused of taking advantage of someone weak, someone who's not in the position to fend for themselves right now.

"I would never hurt him. Never."

It's not the complete truth, and Brendan wishes he could say it with the strongest conviction. He _has_ hurt Steven before, hates the fact that his promises are worth nothing because of what Douglas knows he did to Vincent.

But he feels such a swell of protectiveness towards the boy, and the thought of laying a hand on him now disgusts him. He wants to keep him safe from people like that.

He expects Douglas to fight back with a snappy retort, but sees something entirely different register across his face, drops his arms from around him as if in shock.

"Oh my God. You're..."

He breaks off, doesn't need to continue because Brendan's got the strangest idea of exactly what he's going to say.

"I'm not. I'm not." Repeating it only makes it sound more weak.

"Yes you are. I didn't think it was possible...someone like you...but you are, aren't you?"

Brendan stares back at Steven on the bed, is panicked that the boy's taking this all in, but he seems in a world of his own, is looking straight ahead, dazed as if he's already beginning to sober up and it's an uncomfortable reality.

"You can stand outside the door the whole time if you want. Just give me some time with him." His voice is softer now, coaxing almost, knows that pissing Douglas off isn't going to help right now, as fun as it can be.

Douglas stares at Steven as if trying to garner his approval, knows it's futile because any of the boy's decisions can't be entirely trusted in this state regardless.

"Just go, Doug," he sighs, slouching back on the bed like he's admitting defeat.

Douglas stands close to Brendan's face, tries to pretend that he isn't a good few inches shorter than him, smaller in every way.

"I'll be keeping an eye on you. If you even touch him -"

"Shaking in my shoes, Douglas."

He narrows his eyes, takes an age to close the door behind him, and Brendan has to resist the urge to do it for him.

When he's gone Brendan breathes a sigh, doesn't know if it's in relief or frustration. He hadn't planned on ever being alone with Steven again, and everything feels _fragile_. Unpredictable. He's not sure whether to shout at the boy for his stupidity or take him into his arms, something he's not allowed to do anymore. Something he shouldn't want to do.

He should feel angry for passing up a chance to be with Kevin for this, hates himself for feeling like there's nowhere else that he'd rather be right now.

Of all the places and of all the people, he'd choose this.

Insanity.

It's so quiet, _too_ quiet, and if one of them doesn't start talking soon then they never will.

"You got a death wish, Steven?"

As far as conversation starters go it's not the politest of beginnings, but he's never felt the need to be polite around this man.

Steven merely ignores him, head turned to the side. He's listening though, Brendan can tell.

"You're getting out soon. What if you'd been caught? That would have meant more months away from Amy and the kids. Or do you want to rot away in this place?"

"Don't care," the boy grunts.

He does though, Brendan _knows_ it.

"Don't give me that bullshit. Don't start acting like all the other guys in here."

"Why?" Still petulant, still facing away.

"Because you're better than them."

Steven snorts. "Yeah, whatever you say Brendan."

"You don't think I mean it?" He's willing to prove to him that he does, if it means he'll stop self destructing.

"No, funnily enough I don't think the guy who dumped me and gave me bruises thinks I'm all that special."

_Dumped_. Like they were together. Properly together.

"This isn't about me," Brendan mumbles. "Or us. It's about you."

"If it's not about us then why don't you just do one?"

"I wasn't going to leave you in this state with Walker," Brendan says, as if it's obvious.

"Why not?" Steven asks, finally facing him, flinging his arms about in annoyance.

Usually Brendan loves him like this. Fiery. Passionate.

"You're not my minder, are you? I don't need you to look after me. I was doing just fine."

"Ah yes," Brendan laughs hollowly. "Because that's so like you, isn't it? Willing to sleep with a man who you don't even like."

"Who says I don't like him? Maybe I just told you that to make you happy. Maybe I've fancied him all along."

He's hitting Brendan where he hurts, and knows it too, knows that it had been an insecurity of Brendan's, as much as he does _insecurities_. Seeing Walker and Steven together had confirmed all of his worst fears, made him think that perhaps the boy's feelings for him had been a lie all along.

Walker can offer Steven a kind of protection that he can't. He wouldn't hit Steven. Walker doesn't have a father like Seamus, isn't the same kind of monster as Brendan is.

Steven's better off with him, and Brendan feels like now he's not the only one who realises it.

"Would you...would you really have slept with him?" He can't help but torture himself by asking.

"Maybe," Steven says quietly, sounds like a _yes_.

"Jesus, Steven."

"What? What's so wrong with that?" The boy slurs loudly. "You did."

Brendan goes stock still, stares at him in shock.

"_What?"_

"I know about your little lie. Telling me that you'd never..." He laughs bitterly. "Don't even bother to deny it, because both he and Doug told me."

Brendan runs a hand through his hair, doesn't know where to look.

"It was before I met you," he answers pointlessly, pointlessly because this thing between him and Steven is over now, and he doesn't owe him explanations.

Then why does it feel like he does?

"Several times apparently." Is that jealousy?

"It wasn't even..." He tries to explain, wants to tell Steven how Walker had worn him down, kept on coming to him when he was at his lowest, and it was something that made him feel better, the only thing at times. Like something that kept him alive when he felt he had no one else. "He didn't mean anything to me."

"Why did you lie then?"

He's not even entirely sure himself, tries to make sense of it in his mind.

"Because I didn't want...I didn't want you knowing anymore about my past. The choices I'd made, the things I'd done. I'd already told you about...about my dad." It hurts to say it, reminds him bitterly of Steven sharing the most personal thing about his life with Simon. "I just wanted us to start again."

He only realises how true it is when he says it. He hadn't wanted to remember being with Walker when he was with Steven. The two things were incomparable. A mindless fuck against something that had meant everything.

"How were we meant to start again when you couldn't even be honest with me?"

Brendan doesn't have an answer to that. He fights between desperately wanting to give Steven _something_, some kind of explanation, and knowing that he owes him nothing, that the boy's the one in the wrong here.

Steven shakes his head in frustration when Brendan remains quiet, and leans his head into his propped up knees.

"You should get some rest, sleep this off."

"Don't tell me what to do."

"I'm not -" He swears, feels like he can't win here. He tries to talk to the boy and he's attacked, he tries to leave him alone and he's attacked. "That moonshine's nasty stuff. Leaves you with a killer hangover."

"Don't pretend you care, Brendan. You just want to get back to your new toy."

Brendan's eyes widen, wonders if Steven's read his mind and seen who's in his cell waiting for him.

"I've seen you with that lad. Carl, is it?"

"Kevin."

He thinks. It's hard to remember.

"Is he the one you cheated on me with?"

"I didn't cheat on you, Steven. We were never together."

Steven looks like he believes that just as much as Brendan does.

"No." He continues softly. "It wasn't him."

"Who then?"

He tries to think of a name, a name designed to hurt him, but he draws a blank. Steven has no right to be jealous of anyone in here. Everyone pales in comparison to him, badly. So badly that it's embarrassing.

"Come on, tell me." Steven stands up from the bed, marches up to Brendan as bold as brass. The alcohol inside his system has left his cheeks with a faint rosy glow, and Brendan curses him for looking so perfect even now.

He's making it increasingly difficult to walk away.

"Because see, I thought we were together, me. I thought we were a couple, that it was you and me against every fucker in this place."

Steven's softened now, his eyes shining brightly with tears, the harsh exterior that's been present for so long breaking.

Brendan's overtaken by a strong desire to comfort him, feels like he has to restrain his hands from reaching out.

"Remember the last time we slept together?"

_Of course. _He'd been drunk like Steven is now, had been able to fool himself that he'd been dreaming until he'd had to admit defeat, acknowledge that even with the strong sense of betrayal in his gut he still hadn't been able to resist him that one last time.

"You kissed me like you - like you cared about me," Steven stutters, a single tear rolling down his cheek that Brendan wants to wash away with his tongue. "You held me afterwards, remember? Fell asleep with me, and then I woke up the next morning and you were gone."

Brendan remembers, remembers how he hadn't been able to stay in the bed a second longer, otherwise he'd risk taking Steven all over again, of forgetting that he had to end it.

"How can we go from that to this?" He's begging him now, begging him to make him understand.

There's a lot that Brendan needs to understand himself.

"You know what I decided the first night we slept together? Something that I never told you, that I never told anyone. Look at me -" Steven pleads, takes Brendan's face in his hands and forces him to meet his eyes. "I decided that I'd never be with anyone else after that. That it would just be you."

"That's...that's crazy. Got the rest of your life ahead of you, you've got to live it," Brendan chokes.

"I didn't care," Steven says with conviction, hurts to hear him throwing away his life instantly just like that. "I just wanted you."

Brendan's angry now, fucking furious. Steven shouldn't be making him feel all these things, not when he's the one who screwed it up. For a glorious moment Brendan had imagined all that too, had been impossible to envisage himself with anyone else ever again when he had Steven.

The future and the boy's release date had been a looming presence in his mind, but when he was with Steven it was easy to believe that something like that could last forever.

"You broke it," he says, wants it to sound like an accusation but it comes out weak, pathetic.

The comment seems to sober Steven up further, blinks those long eyelashes of his which are now stained with tears.

"What?"

"You..." _You know what you did._

"Come on," Steven says, sounds like he's in disbelief, and this is increasingly making little sense to Brendan, doesn't understand how Steven can be this dense.

The boy pushes him and he stumbles back, disarmed.

"Tell me, how did _I_ break it? Was I too kind to you? Was I there for you too much? Was having someone care about you just too fucking annoying?"

Brendan wants to warn him that if he continues he's going to get more than a few bruises this time, but the anger that's risen to the surface is overtaken by curiosity. He wants to know what the fuck Steven's talking about.

"Come on, tell me. I'm really fascinated as to how this is _my_ fault."

"You told him," Brendan explodes, sounds like it's being torn out of him. He's avoided this up until now because it hurts too much.

Not speaking it out loud lessened the pain of it for a little while, meant that he didn't have to hear Steven admit his betrayal and fuck him up all over again.

"I told who what?"

The boy sounds genuinely confused. He's cleverer than Brendan had guessed, must have hidden talents in manipulation to make it sound this convincing, like he's the innocent victim in all of this.

He doesn't give up when Brendan doesn't tell him.

"What are you talking about?" He sounds desperate now, forehead creased like he's in torment, hands either side of Brendan's face, hold on him firm even when he tries to shrug him off.

"Walker," he manages to get out, can't stand that the man knows his biggest weakness, the thing which he's tried to protect his whole life.

Steven still looks mystified, still pretends that he doesn't fucking get it, and Brendan wants to hammer it into his head, spell it out for him, _I trusted you and you destroyed it all._

"You told him about Seamus." He can't say any more than that, feels like a punch to his stomach just getting those words out.

Steven's hands slowly run down his skin as he releases him, looks like he's in shock, doesn't look the slightest bit drunk anymore.

"Why would you say that?" He sounds almost insulted, like Brendan's offended _him_.

"He told me." He wonders if this will finally cause Steven to drop the pretense and admit to what he's done.

"But I...I never..."

Brendan shakes his head in disgust, can't believe that the boy's denying it even now when being faced with the truth.

"Brendan I swear, I never told him anything!"

"You're a fucking liar," Brendan says coldly, looks Steven up and down like he's something sick, revolting.

"I swear on my kids life." He's panicked now, tries to put his hands back on Brendan but he pushes him away, causes Steven to momentarily lose his footing.

He's not giving up though, leans a hand on the bed railing so he doesn't fall, and moves closer to Brendan like he _has_ to keep talking to him.

"Why would I do that to you? I'd rather die than tell anyone."

"You're the only person I've ever told. How would he know otherwise?"

Steven looks around the cell, looks like he's searching for answers in the walls.

"I don't know, maybe he...maybe he overheard us or something."

"No." Brendan shakes his head, isn't going to be reeled in by this.

"Brendan! I _promise_ you, despite everything that's happened between us, despite all that you've done - I wouldn't tell anyone, even now. You really think I could ever hurt you like that? I wouldn't even do that to my worst enemy."

Fuck. The way that Steven's looking at him, it's easy to believe that he's telling the truth. That he really would rather give up his life than reveal that confidence.

He can't separate fact from fiction anymore.

"Oh my God," Steven whispers.

"What?" Brendan can't help but ask, is feeling increasingly uncomfortable about this whole situation, like everything he thought he knew is coming undone.

"He's played us. He's played us this whole time." He sounds in shock. "He told me about you and him, pretended that it just slipped out, like he didn't even realise. He wanted me to hate you. Then he...he lied to you, Brendan. I don't know how he knows about Seamus, but...can't you see?" Steven looks at him imploringly.

He doesn't know who to trust, has known Walker a whole lot longer, even thinks of him as some kind of fucked up _friend_, but trust is a whole separate issue.

He _had_ trusted Steven though, had trusted him more than his own sister, had sensed that the boy wouldn't reject him or hurt him. It had made all of this sting that much more.

"How...how do I know you're not lying to me? That you weren't the one to tell him?" The vulnerability of his own voice isn't lost on him. He sounds like he's going to break.

Steven takes a deep breath, seems to be fighting some internal war within himself.

"Because...I love you."

Brendan closes his eyes, feels like white noise is surrounding him.

"Shut up, please, just..."

He can't think clearly with words like _love_ being bandied about. It shouldn't faze him, he's heard it a million times before from Macca and Vincent.

But this is different.

Brendan throws open the door to the cell, can't stand this a moment longer. True to his promise Douglas is standing outside, looks like he's keeping guard.

"Go and get Walker for me."

"What?" He asks disgruntledly, is checking over Brendan's shoulder to look at Steven, and Brendan knows what he's looking for.

Marks. Bruises. Blood.

"Go and get him for me. Now."

"I'm not your slave -"

"_Now_."

"Alright," Douglas mutters, runs down the hallway, still far too fucking slow for Brendan's liking.

When Brendan comes to stand back in front of Steven again the boy's staring at him in fear.

"Brendan, don't."

"I'm just going to have a nice little chat with him Steven, that's all."

The boy knows him too well, and his frightened gaze only increases.

When Walker enters the room he closes the door on Douglas, ignores his protests and stares at his form disdainfully.

"Honestly, you could have chosen a better errand boy," he tuts, his frown turning to a smirk as he regards the two men.

"I'll note that down for next time, thanks Simon."

"Anytime." Waller gives him a salute, purposefully ignoring Brendan's hostile tone.

He's reveling in the tension, the way that it feels like everything's about to explode.

Steven's fidgeting on the spot, looks nervous as hell, doesn't know where to place his eyes.

"I must say Brendan, your timing leaves a lot to be desired," Walker continues, walks around the room, circling them. "I was so close to going down on your boy. _So close_."

Brendan balls his hands into fists at the thought, knows just how _close_ Walker really was. The thought's painful to him, the knowledge of what would have happened if he'd been any later.

"I did _just_ get a taste though, didn't I Steven?" He leans close towards the boy, whispers into his ear but still makes sure that Brendan can hear every damn word. "Delicious."

Brendan puts a hand on his arm and drags Walker away from him, doesn't care how much it burns, would happily tear him from his ligaments and leave nothing behind.

"Enough," he hisses, can't fucking stand that anything's happened between them at all.

Walker laughs triumphantly like this is the best game he's ever played.

"I understand the appeal completely, Brendan. I was worried that young Ste here would be all a pretty arse and no substance, but I see how wrong I was."

Steven's colouring in humiliation, looks like he's seen the cold light of day and the knowledge of what he's just done is hitting him.

"You knew it was the only way you could have him, didn't you?" It's sinking in now, the chaos in his head clearing. "You had to make me believe that he'd told you."

Awareness floods Walker, the smile fading from his face.

"He didn't tell you about my dad, did he?"

"I'm sorry to ruin your perfect little fantasy, but he did."

"Stop lying!" Steven screams, and Brendan has to hold him back, the boy struggling fiercely in his arms to break free, to do the kind of damage that Brendan knows will result in Steven being the one on the floor.

"Who are you going to believe?" Walker asks, raising his voice over the sound of Steven fighting to get out of Brendan's grasp.

It's the first time he's touched, _properly touched_ the boy in weeks.

"You've known me for _years_, Brendan."

"I believe him," Brendan says, realises how true this is, and how didn't he see it before?

At his words Steven stops fighting, seems to have the anger drained from him, and Brendan gradually lets the boy go.

"How do you know?" Steven asks, seems just as pained by the fact that he does as Brendan is.

He thinks Walker's going to deny it again, but after a moment his pose turns from rigid to relaxed, his shoulders deflating.

"I've known for years."

"How?" Brendan breathes, mentally thinking back on everything he's ever said to Walker, anything that he's let slip that's revealed the truth.

"I had a...a friend. Went through the same thing. Not exactly like you but not exactly unlike you either."

Brendan still strongly feels an urge to deny it, _you got it all wrong, that never happened to me_, but he knows he's in too deep now.

"I never wanted to use that against you," Walker says, sounds almost regretful and that makes it worse. If he's going to do something this fucked up then Brendan wants him to _be_ fucked up. No middle ground. "But do you see how easy it was, Ste?" He faces the boy now, and Brendan notices how he lowers his voice when it's directed at him. "To make him think that you had betrayed him? Do you see how he has no trust in you at all? He can't love anything."

Brendan expects the boy to ignore him, but he's too stubborn for that, always so much braver than Brendan thinks.

"It doesn't matter. I can love enough for the both of us."

There's that word again. As if Steven truly believe that it makes everything simple.

Walker laughs at the boy's naivety. Time was when Brendan would have joined him, but he wouldn't dare now. Steven's got courage, got more guts than anyone he's ever known to love a man like him.

He knows he's the most difficult person in the world to love.

"That's...cute. Really is it, Ste. I suppose you think you have to be home before midnight otherwise the spell will be broken too? That you'll leave your glass slipper behind?"

Walker's mocking him, is so fucking close to passing the point where Brendan doesn't give him anymore chances.

"You're leaving him in a month, love. But I'll still be here for him. Keeping him warm at night."

Brendan lets his attention slip, is too fucking furious at the poison coming out of Walker's mouth that he doesn't have time to hold Steven back, and before he can stop him he's hit out at Walker, has him lying on the floor after punching him square in the nose.

Blood's spilling down Walker's chin, running over his lips. He clutches his nose, smiles at Steven in surprise.

"Wow. Didn't realise just how feisty your boy really is, Brendan."

Steven shakes his hand in pain, shrugs Brendan off when he tries to look at his knuckles.

He wants to tell Steven that he's just played right into Walker's hand, that he's fucking _loving_ this.

"You're twisted," Steven spits at him, sounds like he's only just realising just how twisted the man _really_ is, that there is no beginning or end to it.

Brendan looks towards the screen window, knows that they're pushing their luck and an officer's bound to do a patrol any second now. He can see Douglas nervously standing outside, looks torn between wanting to come inside and to avoid being placed in any danger.

"Boy, boys..." Walker says, lets out a high pitched laugh as blood cascades down his mouth. "You do realise we can still easily sort this out? I told you Brendan, I'm happy to share him with you. It would be a shame to put this bed to waste."

Brendan silences him by kicking him firmly in the ribs, is sure that the last thing that Walker says before he admits defeat is_ "Women are so much fucking easier."_

He stares at Steven, wonders how on earth they're going to pick up the pieces of this wreckage.


	18. Chapter 18

"Fucking hell, Brendan." Walker clutches his ribs, gets to his feet slowly and leans against the wall, still half bent over. "It's not like you've never been with more than one person at a time before."

Ste wants to shut his ears against the man's words. He wonders what's next to be revealed, can't possibly imagine that there's _more_, but fears that there is.

He's not entirely sure that anything could change the way he feels now, and he thinks it should. He knows that Brendan's a murderer, that he's slept with Walker, that he's been with countless men before him.

He knows that Brendan has no faith in him, that all it took was a few words and his trust in Ste effortlessly crumbled.

It scares him to think that there might be nothing on this earth that could get him to give up. That despite all of this, he still wants something he can't have.

He scares himself.

"Get out, Simon", Brendan says, voice low.

Walker hobbles past them, and Ste still has the sense that he thinks he's won somehow, that a part of him is actually pleased by everything that's happened here.

A few bruised ribs and a bloodied nose won't stop him from reveling in the chaos.

Ste can feel Brendan's eyes on Walker the whole time, looks like he's watching every single movement that the man makes, especially as he steps closer to Ste. He can feel Brendan poised, knows that he's waiting for the smallest gesture - Walker's hand against Ste's cheek, a smile in his direction - and he'll pounce.

Ste's grateful for all of them when Walker casts his eyes adrift, gives Brendan one last parting look before he moves from inside the cell.

Brendan turns his eyes on Ste immediately, exhales and opens his mouth, his eyes soft. He looks like he's about to plead for forgiveness, offer some kind of explanation that can excuse this.

Ste craves a magic solution, some kind of punch line that'll reveal that the whole thing was a joke to begin with.

He hears Brendan say _fuck_ under his breath, roll his eyes to the ceiling, and Ste looks over his shoulder to try and find the source of his irritation.

Doug's hand is on the door, and he's staring into the room worriedly, his brow creased.

"I think that's enough time alone, don't you?"

Ste admires him for his bravery, for even attempting to stand up to Brendan on his behalf, even if it's misguided. He can look after himself.

"Not even close," Brendan says, and Ste feels he's dangerously near to adding to his hit count, his hand looking ready to do more damage, practically shaking with it.

"That's Ste's decision, not yours."

Ste feels a swell of affection for him, needs to step in before Doug gets hurt.

"It's alright, really. Why don't we go to your cell?" Ste asks, turning to Brendan.

"No," he says loudly, then clears his throat, avoids Ste's eyes.

Ste can see how he didn't manage to fool a jury into believing his innocent verdict, can tell that something's going on, more secrets that are being hidden from him.

"No, lets finish this here."

_Finish_. The word makes Ste's blood run cold, thinks that Brendan's already planned this all out in his head, and this is the end. The real end, not the limbo state they've been living in these past few weeks. That Brendan won't just be ignoring him anymore, but that he'll be done with him completely.

Ste wants Doug to stay, would take the awkwardness of him sitting on the bed listening to them argue, thinks that maybe Brendan would refrain from saying _I don't want you anymore_ if there's another witness present.

He laughs at himself internally, knows that Brendan would have no such qualms. He doesn't care what people think, would break his heart no matter how many people were around to watch.

Ste stares at Doug, doesn't know _what_ he wants to say. Stay or leave.

Doug sighs, looks at him like Ste's already told him the answer. Ste's sure he can hear him uncharacteristically swear under his breath before he releases his hand from around the door.

They're alone again.

Ste wants to stop the world from feeling like it's spinning on its axis. He knows he was an idiot for drinking the moonshine, that he must seem like some reckless kid who can't even hold his booze. He hasn't drunk that much in a long time, the fear of coming home to the kids and Amy rotten drunk preventing him from getting more than lightly tipsy.

He feels the effects now, and wants to sit on the bed to steady himself. It feels too personal though, too intimate somehow with Brendan being the only other person in the room. Their past encounters are fogging up Ste's brain, images flickering past like a scrapbook of photographs.

It seems like a long time ago, and he tries to fight the feeling of loss that it gives him.

He doesn't want to be the first to break the silence, knows he's being stubborn but Brendan's the one whose fucked up here.

"You're going to faint in a moment," Brendan warns, and his voice cuts acutely through the quiet.

"No I'm not," Ste mutters, hates that he's close to being right.

"Just sit down, won't you? I've already seen you naked today Steven, I think we're passed being formal like this, don't you?"

Ste grumbles under his breath, reluctantly sits down on the bed and looks at his trainers, anywhere but at Brendan.

He's never going to live down the embarrassment of being caught with his pants off, Walker about to do _that_ to him.

Ste doesn't like the power that Brendan has over him now, is standing above him and making Ste feel even smaller than he already does.

"Sit on the other bed then."

Brendan barks a laugh at his tone, acts like he's about to refuse but then sits down, facing him.

"First and last time on Douglas's bed," he murmurs, thinks he's _funny_.

"Really? Would have thought you'd tried your luck there too." He knows that bitterness is lacing his voice, knows it's not attractive but he's got nothing to lose now, nothing _to_ attract.

He expects Brendan to laugh, but his face is cold when he meets his eyes.

"Walker's exaggerated the things I do. The way I am."

"So you never had a...threesome?" Ste struggles to say the word. Imagining Brendan with _one_ other man is hard enough.

"Well -"

"And you never slept with him?"

"Steven -"

"And you didn't sleep with Carl, or Kevin, or whatever the fuck his name is?"

"No," Brendan says firmly, sounds like he's at least telling the truth about that, but then how the hell does he know for sure? "He was just a...distraction."

Ste wants to scream at him that _he_ had no distraction, that he was left for weeks on his own to try and deal with the fact that Brendan didn't want him. That when he'd tried to fight for him and kiss him he'd ended up with bruises instead.

"I want to know the truth. About who you cheated on me with. And don't tell me again that it wasn't cheating, because you know we were together." He has to believe that at some point Brendan was committed to this just like he was.

Brendan stares down at his hands, fidgeting with them in his lap. Ste wishes that he wouldn't over think everything, that he'd just be honest.

"I didn't cheat on you."

Ste tries to hold back a groan, had thought that he was finally close to getting a real answer.

"No, listen to me." Brendan seems desperate for him to hear him now, is sitting at the edge of the bed and staring at Ste with imploring eyes. "I didn't cheat on you. I just told you that so...so you would let go."

Ste wants to murder him for his skewed logic.

"You're crazy."

"I know."

"You're..." he struggles to find the right words for exactly what Brendan is. "You're unbelievable. You tell me you're moving into a new cell, that you don't want to be with me anymore, and you _still_ think you need to stick the knife in that little bit deeper?"

"I just wanted you to move on," Brendan says quietly.

"Well I didn't." He lets it all come out now, doesn't care if he sounds pathetic or needy or clingy. He's going to make sure that Brendan knows exactly how he made him suffer. "I didn't even want to wake up in the morning anymore. Everything just seemed pointless without you."

He's ashamed to say it, ashamed that the memory of Leah and Lucas couldn't even provide some comfort.

"Don't say that." Brendan's voice sounds torn with agony. "You should have taken care of yourself. Should have forgotten all about me."

Ste wipes his eyes, can feel tears sparkling there. He despises how _soft_ he is.

"You know I couldn't."

"I break everything I care about, Steven."

"Will you stop saying things like that?" Ste raises his voice in frustration. "That's just an excuse, just so you won't ever have to try._ I _used to break everything I cared about Brendan, but I got help, didn't I? There are people who can help you."

Brendan snorts. "Counsellors...therapists..." He says it like they're a language that he doesn't understand.

"Well how are you meant to get better?" Ste's done with looking for magical solutions. He used to be exactly the same with Amy, had laughed at her insistence that he find some kind of support for the tumult in his head, how it resulted in his hands over her, designed to hurt and draw pain. He'd finally realised that this thing was beyond his control, that he couldn't just _stop_.

"I just won't do it again," Brendan says, sounds like a weak promise and even he knows it.

"Yeah? And what's going to stop you?"

"I thought you had told Walker about my dad, Steven. I was angry..."

Ste shakes his head in disgust, is used to these kind of words being spoken out loud, only they used to come from him.

_You_ made me angry. It's _your_ fault.

"What happens if I upset you again, eh?" He demands. "What happens if I say something you don't like? You used to hit Vincent, didn't you?"

"Yes," Brendan says, his voice only a whisper. Ste knows how much he hates talking about him, seems to carry some sort of guilt from the past wherever he goes. "That's different. You're different."

"But I'm not though, am I?" Ste knows that whatever Brendan feels for him, it's not enough to stop him. "You may not have hit me yet but what about next time?"

Brendan's face is contorted, looks like Ste's slowly torturing him and it's unrelenting.

"I can't trust you. I can't...I can't love you when you're like this."

He can't believe that after everything Brendan's done to him he's still saying the word _love_ out loud. It feels like something he's been holding back for a long time, seemed at one point like Brendan was right there with him, was feeling it too. Like a beautiful fantasy which he had to wake up from.

Brendan's reaction had told him all he needed to know. _Shut up, please, just..._

He doesn't love him.

"I'll make it up to you," Brendan says, voice sounding rough and raw around the edges. "If you'll let me."

He shakes his head, rejecting his words. It's not that simple. Too much has happened.

"Simon was right. You gave up on me that easily. All it took was a lie from him and...you thought that I could do that to you." It stings to say the words, can't believe that Brendan thought he was ever capable of sharing something so deeply private with anyone.

He doesn't understand how Brendan can't realise that he's going to take that information to the grave.

"I don't..." Brendan struggles to get the words out, sounds like a chaotic jumble rolling off his tongue. "I don't trust people."

"Not even me?" He asks, can't stop the hurt from leeching into his voice.

"No one. I thought...I thought you two talked about it...laughed at me."

Ste shakes his head in disbelief. "Why would I ever be sick enough to laugh about something like that?"

Brendan shrugs his shoulders in defeat, looking down at the floor.

"You've got absolutely nothing to be ashamed of." He feels the need to say it, has the strongest sense that Brendan thinks he's done something wrong here, all because of what Seamus did to him.

"I've been ashamed my whole life," he says, voice muffled with emotion.

He's so vulnerable like this, so open for Ste to see all his fears, all his wounds. This is the real Brendan, not the one who shut himself off and pushed him away.

"This is why you need to talk about what happened."

He can see Brendan fighting to protest, knows what's happened in the past when he's suggested this very thing. He can tell that Brendan hates it, thinks he's trying to patronise him or force him to talk about something that brings him nothing but the sharpest stab of agony.

"I can't."

"Brendan," he says softly. He doesn't want to push this too far. He still cares about him, doesn't want Brendan to be in pain, but he knows that the only way to get rid of that pain is to face it, say_ fuck you_ until it's ripped to shreds. "How are you ever going to begin to deal with it if you don't? You can't just bury something like this."

He'd had a hard enough time forgetting being knocked about by Pauline and Terry, had stayed in his head for years before he could even begin to chip away at it.

What happened to Brendan isn't even something he can comprehend, can't imagine how he'd still be functioning if he had been through what he had, but he knows that this isn't going to disappear.

"I can't..." Brendan begins, and Ste thinks he's going to say _I can't do this, I can't talk about it. _"I can't lose you. I can't do this without you."

Ste moves off from the bed before he can stop himself, goes over to where Brendan is and tentatively sits down next to him. He's still not sure that this is safe. Not because of what Brendan could do to him - he's not scared that he could hit him, not right now - but he's scared of what _he_ could do to Brendan.

He's close, far too close to kissing him again, to telling him something much too sentimental.

_You're a good man. I won't ever give up on you._

If he kisses him then it'll merely be confirmation in Brendan's eyes that he can do what he wants, that he can treat Ste like he's nothing and he'll still come back for more.

He refuses to be that weak again.

But leaving Brendan on his own isn't an option, not when he's already had a lifetime of suffering that he carries everywhere.

"What do you want to happen?" He asks, needs to know how Brendan sees this going, if he's trying to claw his way straight back into his bed or if he realises the damage he's done here.

"I don't know," Brendan says, sounds so unlike the man that Ste first met who was in control of everything. "I just want to make it up to you."

"I'm not going to just fuck you again."

"Jesus, Steven!" Brendan lays a hand against his forehead, massages his temple. "I'm not talking about that."

"Isn't that all you think about?" He asks acidically.

"Didn't take you long either, did it? Would have moved on to Walker if I hadn't walked in when I did."

"Maybe I still will," Ste says, a fucking lie and they both know it. He can't touch Walker now, not after finding out what he did, the full extent of the twisted lengths he was willing to go to.

"Don't."

"I'm not yours." He's not sure he believes it. "I'm not some kind of property that you own. We can't just go back to the way things were."

"Please, just..." He turns to Ste on the bed, moves his hand closer to his across the mattress, and for one second Ste thinks he's going to reach out and hold it, doesn't know if he'd pull away from him if he did. "Come back."

"Where?"

"To the cell. We can...we can start again."

Ste shakes his head. "We can't just move back in together again."

"Why not?" He's never seen Brendan this frantic to convince him of something before. "I never should have moved out in the first place. Especially if I'd known you would be living with Douglas."

"What's your problem with him?" Ste asks, angry now because Doug's never shown him anything but kindness.

"He could make Lynsey lose her job Steven, get her in a lot of trouble."

"Don't pretend to care about obeying the law, alright?" Ste scoffs, is willing to bet that Brendan would have no such problem if Lynsey was a man and _he_ was the one involved.

Brendan sighs, looks like he's purposefully trying to make an effort here for him. Ste's never not constantly aware of his temper, the way it threatens to erupt, knows that for Brendan it's something that he has to try and consciously control.

"I feel safe with him," Ste continues, and it falls heavily between them, the unsaid fact that sometimes with Brendan he doesn't.

"If...if that's what you want."

"It is," Ste says, avoids his gaze because he can't help the guilt that's building inside of him, irrational as it is.

He leans back on the wall, feels so tired that he could fall asleep against it. The hazy, almost peaceful state that had settled over him after drinking the moonshine has faded, and he's sobered up to face a reality that seems even more fucked up then the one before.

He knows he has to make a decision; to forgive or not forgive.

"Brendan?"

"Yeah?" He senses something in Ste's tone, sounds wary.

"You've got someone in your room, haven't you?" He waits for Brendan to lie to him, to insult his intelligence yet again by thinking he needs to be protected, doesn't understand that this _protection_ only ends up hurting him the most.

"Yes," Brendan says, speaks it so quietly that it sounds like he's hoping that Ste doesn't hear.

Ste had expected it, knew it was coming, but it still leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

"Kevin?" He guesses, hates the boy on principle now, could be the nicest guy in the world and his opinion still wouldn't change.

Brendan nods, face full of regret, but Ste wonders if it's just because he's been caught, isn't completely sure if Brendan is capable of sincerity.

_What I want is to pick up a bloke that isn't you. Like I did today, like I'm going to do tomorrow, and the day after that and the day after that until you get the message._

The memory of it rings in Ste's ears, has kept him awake at night. What Brendan had _wanted_. He'd said it with such belief that Ste had had no choice but to trust his words. He'd known from the start that it was incredibly unlikely that someone like Brendan could ever want someone like him. He'd always been someone's baggage, something they were stuck with. Someone's _problem_.

"Looks like we were both moving on tonight then," Ste says, can't stop the jealousy from leaking into his tone, the possessiveness shocking him. He'd been territorial in the past with Amy and her other boyfriends, but it had never felt like this.

"I swear, he's just a -"

Ste doesn't wait to hear exactly what Kevin is, jumps off the bed before leaning a hand against it when the room starts becoming unfocused again.

"Shit Steven, are you okay?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," he insists, shrugging Brendan's arm off him.

Brendan immediately pulls away like he's been burnt. Everything feels so fragile, both of them remembering what happened the last time Brendan properly touched him. Ste can still see the aggression in Brendan's face, the way he'd pushed him away roughly, the lack of guilt when Ste had smashed into the bed, had let out a cry of pain.

He'd been left crying alone on the floor afterwards, had promised himself he'd never let Brendan lay a hand on him again. He _needs_ to remember this. If he forgets then he's in danger of letting him back in, of ignoring everything that was wrong and twisted, his head clouding with how Brendan's the most desirable and wonderful person he's ever known, how Ste feels he's only just woken up to who he truly is since he met him.

An idea suddenly forms in his brain, is punishing and unbelievably stupid because of the amount of pain it could cause him, but he's never known how to take care of himself, how to make the right decision, laughs at the sheer notion of him even knowing what that would be.

"Lets go to your cell then." He's already heading towards the door, can't get it out of his head now that it's formed and blossomed.

"What?" Brendan looks at him like he's insane, may well be.

"You want to make it up to me? Lets go and you can tell Kevin to fuck off."

He's just opened himself up completely, let Brendan know exactly how insecure he is, how much the thought of what he and Kevin could have done together is tearing him apart.

He's played into Brendan's hands, thinks that the man must be satisfied by how much he wants him even now, but if he is then he doesn't let it show. Brendan stares at him in concern, looks like he's tempted to block the door and keep him in here forever, his willing prisoner.

"That's not a good idea."

"Why? Do you like him?" Ste goads, pleads internally for Brendan to not answer that question.

Brendan stares at him, eyes roaming from his face to the door, deliberating Ste's proposition. Ste's itching to get out of here, wants to see the _competition_ waiting for him back in Brendan's cell.

He's dying for a fight and Brendan knows it, opens the door but puts a hand against it before Ste can move past it.

"Don't do anything stupid, Steven."

He wants to ask if it's his own safety or Kevin's that Brendan's worried about, but if he lets his feelings show anymore then it's going to be a fucking embarrassment, and Brendan will see that he wouldn't _want_ to take back someone like him.

After Brendan seems to ascertain that Ste won't rip out Kevin's jugular, they step outside and are immediately ambushed by someone.

"Oh Jesus. Get a hobby won't you, Douglas?"

"Where are you going?"

Ste can see Doug's eyes all over him, checking that he's still in one piece, doesn't look entirely satisfied with whatever it is he sees.

"Back to my room. Is that allowed, or are you going to follow us the whole way there?"

Doug looks like he's seriously contemplating it.

"Ste, lets go somewhere and talk."

It's a tempting offer, and Ste aches to accept it, but his desire to see this _Kevin_ close up is stronger.

"I won't be much longer, I promise."

Brendan gestures for him to follow, stops shortly to look back at Doug when he makes no move to stop trailing them. He offers him his best intimidating glance, would make a lesser man run a mile.

Ste lays a reassuring hand on his arm, can feel Brendan tensing beside him. The fact that he's so open to touching Doug and not him is starkly apparent, and Ste uses this power, massages Doug's arm longer than is strictly necessary.

"It's okay." He feels like he's saying it as much for his own benefit as he is for Doug's.

Before Doug leaves he gives Brendan an _I'm watching you _gesture, makes Ste feel as giddy as the moonshine did, has to stifle a laugh as he walks down the hallway, can hear Brendan muttering under his breath,_ fucking Douglas Carter, Yankee tootling and a'hollering, like fucking Bay of Pigs. _

Ste asks before he can stop himself, nose crinkled in confusion. "What?"

"Bay of Pigs. Failed invasion by the Americans." Still no recognition. "I forget how young you are sometimes."

It's easy like this, _so_ easy when they're talking, laughing. It's only when they reach Brendan and Ethan's cell that Ste's brought back to reality, remembers exactly what's behind that door, the whole purpose of why they're here.

The sound of their voices cease, and Brendan looks at Ste like he's willing him to change his mind, call off the whole thing.

He couldn't even if he wanted to.

Ste takes a deep breath, leans forward and looks into the screen window, expects to find Kevin spread out on Brendan's bed, naked like he's a feast to enjoy.

His eyes widen.

"Fucking hell."

"What?" Brendan says urgently, nudges Ste out the way and looks through into the room.

His mouth drops open, and both of them open the door at the same time, Ste's anger with Kevin replaced by the desire to save the kid.

The two bodies spring apart, where moments ago bare skin was rubbing together, lips crushing in a frantic rhythm, hands pulling at hair.

Walker grins at them sheepishly, Kevin desperately trying to cover himself up with the sheet.

"This is cosy," Brendan drawls, leaning against the doorframe.

Ste gawps at them open mouthed, wonders just how long he and Brendan were alone in the room together to make _this_ happen.

Walker makes a lazy grab for the pillow, covers it over his groin like he's uncaring either way, stretches his long limbs in a yawning movement.

"You could at least knock, gentleman."

"Says the king of knocking." Brendan tuts, shakes his head like he's actually quite enjoying this, reveling in the humiliation, hasn't been the one who's not been on the receiving end for months, and it's payback time.

"What are you...when did this..." Ste stutters, can't help but be alarmed how Kevin looks breakable next to Walker, hopes he didn't look like that when _he_ was with Brendan, the differences in their bodies vastly obvious.

Kevin colours, his chest flushing and heaving, looks like he's not entirely sure how he got into this situation to begin with, stares around the room like he's only just taking in his surroundings for the first time.

"I'm sorry." He directs it at Brendan, mumbles like he's afraid of taking up oxygen.

"You did me a favour kid, trust me."

"I saw the boy waiting for you all on his own, Brendan," Walker says with a grin stretching his lips. "Thought I'd help him out, properly introduce myself."

"I bet you did," Brendan says, laughs under his breath like he can't believe any of this is happening.

"Your Brendan's been a naughty man, Steven," Walker says, rises off the bed and discards the pillow, his cock and balls swinging freely.

Ste tries to avert his eyes, knows that he'd be giving into exactly what Walker wants if he looks.

"Was going to fuck young Kevin here, that's how much he cares about you."

"Yeah, alright Simon," Ste interjects, can't fucking stand how smug he is right now. "I think I get the message. Brendan doesn't love me, may as well write it on a bloody neon sign for me, or have you done one already?" He doesn't dare to look at Brendan's face, blames the alcohol for making him this reckless.

That's three times he's mentioned the word _love_, is beginning to be like a broken record in his brain, can't seem to stop saying it now that it's out there.

"That's twice you've interrupted me now, Brendan. _Twice_," Walker hisses, cock pointing skyward, eyes closed like he wants to show them all how much he's suffered.

"Put some clothes on," Brendan says, voice twisted with disgust. "Both of you," he adds, turns to Kevin and throws him his trousers off the floor.

Kevin hurries to get dressed while they both turn away. Ste can see Walker out of the corner of his eye, can tell that he's in no such hurry, taking his sweet time with it, watching Kevin as he covers up more skin. He slowly puts a t-shirt on, cock still just visible beneath the material before he begins the gradual pull of his trousers over it. Fucking tease.

"We're all dressed. Unfortunately."

"Right, well now you can piss off, can't you?" Ste says, feels a certain amount of bravery that he loathes to admit comes from Brendan standing beside him.

Walker laughs, looks delighted by the whole charade. He turns to Kevin, seems to ignore the way the boy looks unmistakably frightened now.

"Come on, son. We can go back to mine. Pick up from where we left off."

Ste snorts, watches while Kevin timidly follows Walker out of the door.

"Remember sweetheart, if you change your mind -"

"Simon, fuck off, yeah?"

Walker leans his head back and lets out a loud raucous laugh. "Oh Brendan, this one's a keeper. Beautiful."

He makes a pull for Kevin's hand, gives him a heavy slap on the arse before leaving, and the boy looks back at them as if silently pleading for help.

Ste hadn't known that his competition would be some frightened boy barely out of his teens.

Ste lets out a shaky laugh when they're alone again.

"Least you'll have stories to tell the kids," Brendan sighs, goes over to the bed and strips the sheets from the bed disdainfully.

"Yeah, I think I'll leave that one out. I can't believe..." he stops, feels so full of anger and rage that it disables him. "I can't believe that after everything he's done he's just...he's just like that, doesn't even care. He can't get away with this."

"He's not going to."

Ste's heart leaps. Revenge is something he's definitely willing to be involved in.

"You're not going to be doing anything, Steven."

Fucking mind reader.

"Why not?" He grunts, insulted, thinks that Brendan doesn't believe he's capable.

"I want you out of trouble."

"Trying to control me again?" He asks, can see Brendan's expression turn to one of hurt, but it's not enough to make him take back his words. "Tell me who I can see, what I can do?"

Brendan sighs, stares at him in exasperation like he's willing for him to understand. "I just want the best for you."

"Well you know what, you need to stop deciding that. It's not your choice to make. Leaving me wasn't what's best for me, was it? You're always saying you want to protect me, but the only person who keeps hurting me is you."

He leans his head against the coldness of the wall, tries to lessen the pounding but he can still feel it. It never seems to leave him these days, too much noise in there, feels like his skull is about to explode from the pressure.

He wants to kiss him, he _does_, but it's going to make it that much harder when Brendan leaves him again.

"I'm sorry."

He's not sure if he should allow himself to believe it.

"I'll deal with Walker, I promise."

"I don't..." He needs Brendan to understand this. It's never been about Walker, has never been the real problem here and never will be. "I don't care about that. Not really."

There's silence for a moment, and Ste can just imagine the cogs turning in Brendan's mind while he tries to work out what Ste truly wants here.

"I wish I could be normal."

He sounds so broken that Ste turns to face him, has to fight against his instinct to reach out to him, to hold him, to do anything to try and make it better.

This is what love feels like. Trying to fix something because it hurts you to see it damaged.

"Everyone does."

"Everyone else isn't a freak." Brendan spits the words out, stares at Ste with dark eyes, so blue that he could drown in them.

He can't stop himself from touching him anymore. He feels like he's moving forward against his will, and there's no one to tell him how dangerous this is.

"Come here," he says, holds his arms out for Brendan to settle into, and he moves into them effortlessly, fits into the space he makes like it's been carved just for him.

He strokes Brendan's hair, breathes in the smell of him, so unique and _Brendan_, something that his imagination could never quite manage to conjure up on nights spent alone without him.

He misses him desperately, doesn't know how he ever survived this long without him.

"It's okay," he whispers into his neck, can feel Brendan heaving slightly in his arms, and for one terrifying moment he's scared that he's crying, can't look because the thought of Brendan being in that kind of pain is unbearable to him.

"I'm so sorry, Steven."

Ste doesn't ask what for, senses that Brendan's apologising for a million things, for everything that's happened since they first met. He doesn't say anything, doesn't want to forgive him, wants to hold onto that anger for a _little_ bit longer, to make Brendan know that this isn't a clean slate here, that they can't simply bury what's happened.

But God would he like to. He'd love nothing more than to be with him now.

By the time Ste releases him Brendan's got dry eyes, and he's relieved for that, aches just to know that Brendan could have cried against his shoulders. He's so used to him being strong, to being the one who holds it all together, the glue that binds them both.

To see Brendan cry would be like glimpsing the eight year old boy that he had been, makes Ste murderous, would kill Seamus himself if he wasn't already dead.

"I shouldn't even be here. Shouldn't be messing with your head..." Brendan trails off, sounds miserable as sin, and Ste knows it's not what either of them want.

"I told you, remember? My decision."

"You don't want me here."

Ste pushes him lightly on the arm, makes Brendan smile the smallest amount, and for that he's grateful.

"Do you want to make me angry, Brendan?"

"I don't know," Brendan says, eyes dancing. "Maybe I do."

Ste smiles, can't fucking help it. He feels alive again instantly. "You've never seen me when I'm _really_ angry."

Brendan reaches out, brushes his hand through Ste's hair, does it again and again when the boy doesn't pull away, when he closes his eyes, savouring the feel of it.

"Stay with me tonight."

Brendan looks just as surprised by what he's said as Ste is.

Ste steps back, feels suddenly anxious. "I told you -"

"I don't mean...I don't mean we have to have sex. I'm not...I'm not asking for that." He looks uncomfortable as hell, eyes darting from the floor to Ste's face, looks like he regrets his sudden unexpected outburst.

"I can't anyway. The officers..." He knows it's pointless even saying it, that Brendan can make anything happen in this place, that he could organise another transfer right now and it would be accepted.

"Just for tonight."

Ste knows it won't be just for tonight, that it never could be.

Brendan takes Ste's face between his hands, rubs his thumbs over his cheeks softly.

"_Please_, Steven. Please stay with me tonight."

He knows he needs to be sensible here. It's too soon, too delicate, the memory of what Brendan did still too vivid in his mind.

He'll be safe with Doug. He's _good_ for him, in a way that Brendan could never be.

Ste doesn't pull away when Brendan leans towards him, is too preoccupied with the wreckage going on in his mind to stop him when he kisses him lightly on the lips, the taste of him lingering, the slight prickle of his moustache.

"Yeah." His voice sounds croaky. He swallows and tries to focus on anything but Brendan's mouth, knows that it's always been his downfall. "Yeah, I'll stay with you."


	19. Chapter 19

"Osborne, come here." Brendan motions for Darren to come closer with his hand, watches as the officer timidly walks over to him, looks around as if searching for protection. "You're going to do me a little favour."

Darren's face falls immediately, knows exactly what he's talking about, has been here too many times before.

"I can't do this anymore. I could lose my job." He stares over his shoulder nervously, shuffles from foot to foot.

"Better than losing your wife and child, isn't it?"

Brendan loves and hates in equal measure how easy it is to convince someone that he's a cold blooded killer. He can see the fear in Darren's eyes, the knowledge that he truly believes every word he's saying.

"What do you want?"

"Steven's going to be staying here tonight."

"Who?"

Brendan sighs at peoples insistence at calling the boy _Ste_, isn't a proper name at all. He stands aside, gives Darren access to the boy sitting on the bed.

"Hay? You can't have him in here Brendan, you share with Scott now."

"Fuck, I forgot," Brendan says, smacks himself on the forehead with a hand. "Oh wait, that's why I called this a _favour_." He takes out a stick of gum, pops it between his lips and chews while staring Darren down, waiting for the moment when he breaks.

"Where's Ethan going to be staying?"

"With the Yank. Call it a sleepover."

"That's against the rules."

He's going to have to increase his threats here, resort to dirty tactics to hammer the message home.

"The money good here, Osborne?"

"What?" Darren blinks, disarmed by the abrupt change in subject.

Brendan has to move fast here, is itching to get back to Steven.

"Your salary. Can't exactly be making millions." He looks him up and down, taking in the crumpled uniform, his shoes which are close to falling apart, the fact that he looks about four months overdue a haircut.

"That's not your problem, is it?"

"I could make it my problem."

"Living on a goldmine are you, Brendan?" Darren mocks, but he can hear the curiosity in his voice, knows that he's interested, perfect for Brendan to exploit.

"I have some money. Could become _your_ money if you play your cards right."

Darren looks close to giving in, so deliciously easy to sway until his morals kick in.

"It's not going to happen."

Brendan leans in closer to him, doesn't want to risk the chance of Steven overhearing.

"You've got Nancy and Oscar to support, haven't you? Think about what you could do for them, bit of extra cash in your pocket."

Darren draws back, looks between Brendan and Steven. "One night?"

"One night." He's not sure that Steven will agree to any more, not when he's still tiptoeing around him, not when the wound's still so raw.

He couldn't have chosen anyone riper than Darren, knows that there's nothing he wouldn't do for his family.

"If I don't get the money -"

"You will." He's a man who sticks to his promises. "I'll find you tomorrow."

"You mean _I'll_ find you tomorrow."

"Sure," Brendan says, smiles at the man's futile fight for control, should know by now that it's a losing battle. "Osborne - one last thing."

Now comes the embarrassing part. It has to be done, but he's avoided it until the end for a reason.

"Do you have a condom?"

Darren blinks, looks like he's a pubescent teen in a sex education class and he's just been confronted with his first vagina.

"Excuse me?"

"A condom," Brendan says slowly, is wondering whether he'll have to spell it out too. "You know, one of those things which stop women from making babies and ensure that I don't have to take a trip to the local STI clinic?"

"Yeah, I know what it is," he says uncomfortably.

_Act like it then, and make this less awkward for me._

"You must have one lying about somewhere."

"It's not a biro, Brendan."

"Ha ha, very funny. I need one."

"A biro?"

Jesus, he's dealing with idiots here.

"A condom."

"Why?"

Brendan senses that this is going to be the long and drawn out conversation that he was hoping to avoid.

"Because I'm hoping to fuck that boy in there one day, and my usual supplier's no longer available."

"Oh. Right." Darren stares over his shoulder at Steven, looks him up and down like he's sizing him up, having to resist the urge to ask _will that kid be okay? _

"Well I don't have one on me right now."

"There must be _someone_ in this place who does." He's not fooling himself that he's going to sleep with Steven today, but if the chance arises he wants to be able to keep them both safe.

"I suppose one of the officers might..."

Brendan stares at him expectantly.

"What?" Darren says, colouring at the intensity of his glance.

"Chop chop, I haven't got all day."

"You want me to -"

"Yes. Now."

He stays rooted to the spot for a second, jumping when Brendan slams his foot down on the floor, startling him. Brendan laughs under his breath while he watches Darren running away, leans against the doorframe and looks at Steven sitting on the bed.

It's difficult to not think about what he wants to do to the boy.

When Darren returns Brendan quickly hides the condom in his pocket, doesn't want Steven to assume that he's had this all planned out since the start. He hasn't, but where the boy's concerned there's always that hope, that desire.

Steven's all over him with questions when he closes the door.

"What was all that about, or don't I want to know?" There's mistrust there, mistrust that Brendan knows he deserves.

"Honestly?"

Steven nods reluctantly, is smart enough to know that he's better off being left in the dark about Brendan's activities.

"You don't want to know. Bottom line is, you're staying here tonight."

Steven's eyes on him are still cold, wary.

"I mean, if that's what you want." He softens his voice, reminds himself that right now he should feel like the luckiest guy on the planet for even getting something that resembles a second chance.

"I don't even know what I want." Steven rubs his hands over his eyes, looks exhausted and shell shocked from the day's events.

Brendan can't blame him, has been a head fuck for him and he'd thought he'd already seen everything that the world could throw at him.

"You should get some rest." He knows that's what the boy needs more than anything right now. He needs to sleep the effects of the moonshine off, is close to collapsing with tiredness and intoxication.

"I haven't got my pajamas."

Brendan doesn't remember Steven owning any, had only ever seen him sleeping fully dressed, or eventually naked. If he'd been cold in the night he'd slipped on some boxers and a t-shirt, but Brendan liked feeling his skin against his own, not the material of clothing.

He doesn't want to overstep a line here, sound like he only wants him for one thing. It surprises him that it isn't about that, that he just wants Steven here in the room with him, to keep him close.

"I'll sleep in my clothes too," Brendan says, wants to set the boy at ease.

"No, don't be daft. You'll be uncomfortable like that."

Brendan can't believe how much he still cares about him, even now.

"It's okay," Steven continues after a moment, looking at the floor in embarrassment. "You can change."

Brendan goes over to the mirror, tries to create the most amount of space between them so that Steven doesn't feel like he's too close, too suffocating.

He stares at his reflection, takes in how haggard he looks, feels like he's aged twenty years in two weeks. Being without this boy has taken its toll on him, has reduced him to someone who can only do the bare necessities, is just about able to wash and dress himself without falling apart.

He's barely bothered to shave. A beard's close to forming, and he runs a hand over it, wondering why out of all the people in the world Steven chose him. Even in the state he's in Steven looks flawless, skin as honey coloured as ever, eyes bright and shining.

Brendan wants him just as much as he ever has, attraction and desire making him feel self conscious, another crippling first, as he begins to get undressed.

He can see Steven trying to distract himself, facing away. Brendan has a feeling that it's for the boy's benefit, that he doesn't want Brendan to see his face, his reaction.

It's quiet in the room, but he fears that if he tries to put on music then it'll draw attention to the awkwardness of the situation, will suggest that he feels as uncomfortable as Steven does.

When Brendan's shirtless he makes a grab for a vest, has to move closer to Steven to pull one from the drawer, tries his hardest not to brush against the boy when he reaches for it. When he'd kissed him before it had been light, Steven's lips barely even moving against his own. Bodily contact, _real_ bodily contact, feels like something they haven't done in a very long time, and Brendan's scared that he's forgotten what Steven feels like, fears even more that he'll never feel it again.

Even when a vest and boxer shorts are covering his modesty he still feels naked.

He moves towards his bed, hasn't even had the opportunity to wash the sheets, and his lip curls in distaste at the knowledge that Walker and Kevin's bodies have been all over them.

First thing tomorrow he's going to soak them in a hot wash, get out the poison.

Steven gets underneath the covers of Ethan's bed, looks like an overgrown kid with all his clothes still on, tracksuit top poking up from underneath the sheet.

Brendan turns one of the lights off, keeps the remaining one on so that they're not shrouded in complete darkness. It feels safer this way, dark enough so that they don't have to look at each other, but not like back when they used to share a cell, when sleep was the last thing on their minds.

"Thanks for staying with me." It hurts to be this honest. He's not used to saying these things, _thank you_ and_ I'm sorry_, is so accustomed to lying his way out of situations that it's a shock to say what he really feels.

"It's okay."

"No, it's not. I shouldn't have asked you."

"Then why did you?"

"Because I'm weak, and selfish."

He's sure he can hear Steven laugh softly across the room.

"That makes two of us."

"You're neither of those things." It's essential that he makes Steven understand this, can't say it out loud but he's the best man he's ever known. "Amy's lucky to have you. So are the kids."

"I can't...I can't stand that when you were a kid you..."

Brendan closes his eyes, tries to drown out his words and the memories that they bring. They feel as real and vivid as though it's happening all over again.

Everything seems to lead back there. He's been running his whole life but he can never seem to run fast enough.

"You told me once that you had a choice. That you chose to find Seamus, to..."

_To kill him. _

Brendan squeezes his eyes even more tightly shut, tries to imagine that if he does it enough he can make this all go away.

"Why did you go back there?"

"He deserved to pay."

"You could have had your whole life ahead of you though." Steven's voice sounds strangled, sounds like it's painful to get the words out. "And me and you...we could have met. Could have met outside of this place, and..."

"We never would have met anywhere else, Steven. Boy like you, you wouldn't have come anywhere near my world. You wouldn't want to have known me back then. I was fucked up." He laughs hollowly. "Even more fucked up," he adds before Steven can do it for him.

"I just...I hate that you're stuck in this place. I hate what he did to you."

Brendan's grateful that Steven doesn't say his father's name, doesn't want it to taint the boy's perfect mouth.

"You should be _free_." He says it with such aching conviction, actually believes that Brendan deserves it. He doesn't think anyone in his life has ever known exactly who he is and loved him anyway.

It seems to hover between them, has done every since Steven spoke the word, is unavoidable and he can't take it back.

"What you said to Walker before, about me not..." Brendan steels himself to say it, knows it's only a damn four letter word, that it should hold no power over him, but he can't do it.

"Loving me?" Steven finishes for him, voice sounding close to breaking.

"I...I care about you, Steven." He knows how insubstantial it sounds.

"Right."

"Vincent and Macca...all the others...I never felt about them the way I feel about you." He prays that this is enough, that Steven will understand how it takes all that he has to admit this.

"Feel?" The boy sounds hopeful in the darkness.

"Feel," Brendan says firmly, because nothings changed for him. Nothing ever will.

He hears the ruffling of covers, wonders if Steven's decided to turn over and go to sleep, conversation over. He'll understand if the boy has. God knows he deserves to be given the silent treatment after what he's done, wouldn't blame Steven if he never wanted anything more to do with him.

He wants the boy to shout at him, to lash out, to punch him if that's what he needs. As long as he stays with him he'll let him do anything, would feel like a strange kind of relief if Steven gave him what he deserved, left him a bloodied and broken mess on the floor.

He becomes aware of footsteps padding towards him, turns his head and sees the most beautiful statue standing before his bed.

"Budge over then."

Brendan does so immediately, is dazed but can't allow himself to wait in case Steven changes his mind.

He hasn't slept with someone beside him in weeks, but it feels right, feels more natural than the solitary state that he's been existing in. It's warmer now with Steven next to him, the softness of his tracksuit rubbing against Brendan's bare arms.

He's not going to be able to resist kissing him for much longer, and Steven knows it, can see the way that Brendan's eyes are dark, pupils dilated as he stares at his lips.

"I haven't forgiven you."

It's not what he was was expecting to hear, the harshness of his words contrasting with his actions, with the way he brushes his arm against Brendan's, finally allowing himself to touch.

He doesn't reply, senses that Steven's got a whole speech that he's planned out in his head, and he's building up the bravery to speak it aloud.

"I can't just forget what you did. I'm not sure I ever will. I wanted to die because of you, because I _wasn't_ with you. Do you know how fucked up that is? I've got a family to support, a life back home, and I was close to forgetting about all that, letting it go because of you."

It hurts that Steven would ever even contemplate giving up. Brendan knows he would have followed him if he had, wouldn't have survived long in this world without him.

"See. I told you that you were wrong about me not being selfish. And now I'm thinking about doing it all over again, taking that risk..."

Brendan turns in the bed to look at Steven, feels a swell of hope rise in his chest.

_Please, please take that risk again. _

"You're the worst thing that's ever happened to me."

_Likewise. The most reckless, the most stupid..._

"But I love you."

Brendan can't understand how these words don't cause him panic like they've done so many times before. He _likes_ hearing them from this man.

He can see Steven desperately searching his eyes, needing him to give something back, anything.

"I don't think I can live my life without you." He expects the honesty to cripple him, but he's still here. He hasn't been struck down by God, not yet.

Somewhere deep in his gut he knows that if Steven hadn't returned to him he would have sought him out. All the Kevin's and Walker's in the world wouldn't have been able to stop him.

There was only ever one way this was going to go. He was never going to feel any differently.

Steven nestles closer to him, and Brendan dares to tentatively put an arm around him, begins stroking against Steven's hand when he doesn't tell him to stop.

He breathes in the scent of the boy, places his lips against his hair and lightly kisses it.

He meant what he said, he doesn't expect anything here tonight. He knows he's got a lifetime of making up to do, only wishes that Steven had that lifetime here with him. He wants the boy's freedom, wants him to leave this place and never look back, but he already knows how hollow he'll feel without him, how completely empty.

Steven reaches to take Brendan's hand in his, and he worries for a moment that the boy's going to push him away, that he's moving too fast here.

He slowly leads it downwards, reaches underneath the cover and places his hand below his tracksuit jumper, smoothing it over the soft skin of his stomach. It's warm there, and Brendan's hand feels cold in comparison, can see Steven let out a little yelp from the change in temperature.

Brendan removes his hand, blows hot air on it quickly then places it back, slow slip slide of his palm against Steven's taut skin. He gently moves it back and forth, keeps his eyes on Steven's the entire time, watching the way the boy's own lids close against the movement.

"That's nice." He sighs, and it reminds Brendan of when he first gave him a massage, wonders if the boy's cock is beginning to grow harder like it did back then.

He doesn't make any movement further downwards, just continues with this slow up and down ministration. Steven is in charge here, isn't a particularly safe place for either of them to be, but this is all in the boy's hands. Brendan's prepared to do anything he wants, would stop right now if he told him to.

Brendan can feel his own dick straining in his boxers, can't resist rubbing against Steven's leg, watching as the boy becomes aware of the fact, opening his eyes sluggishly with a hint of a smile on his lips.

He reaches underneath the covers again, strokes his hand over Brendan's own and guides it lower. Brendan's thankful that the boy's not wearing jeans, makes getting access that much easier, and his hand slips in one clean motion into Steven's boxers.

It's still not enough for the boy.

"Wait, let me..." He lifts his arse up, tongue between his teeth, and Brendan has to resist the urge to bite down on it.

He can feel the material of Steven's jogging bottoms as he shuffles out of them. The boy's bare legs are against his own, the dark hair prickling, causing goosebumps to form on Brendan's skin.

He keeps his underwear on, doesn't seem ready to be parted with it yet. They haven't been naked and touching each other like this in weeks, and it shows. Brendan can feel him shivering, knows it's not from the cold. He wants to offer him some kind of reassurance, tries to smile and communicate that he'll protect him, that he'll never hurt him again.

Steven seems to gather some strength from him, whispers _you can touch me_, and Brendan resumes the position of his hand, begins gliding it over Steven's pubic hair, familiarising himself with the boy's body, with his reactions and facial expressions as his hands explore him.

He hasn't lost his responsiveness, the way he keens and rises his stomach off the bed when Brendan strokes over his groin.

Brendan tosses the covers aside, wants to _see_ Steven. He can feel his own lips part when he takes his cock in his palm, smooths a single finger over its head and listens as Steven's breathing becomes faster.

He thinks about how he never appreciated this, never really appreciated what it meant to be with someone he cares about like he is now.

His touch is still hesitant, is aware that Steven could shrug him off at any moment. He doesn't deserve a second chance, but it's difficult not to want to take it, has never been able to resist the boy, especially when he's spread eagled underneath him like this.

He wants to show Steven that he's capable of being gentle. He used to wake up and see the indents of his hands over Steven's thighs, bite marks peppered around his neck. He's reluctant to leave even the slightest graze this time, knows that it may remind the boy too acutely of what bruises he's left on his skin in his past.

Brendan moves down the bed, keeping his lips against Steven's body the entire time, trailing down his chest and stomach. He uses the lightest touch, just the soft press of his mouth before he reaches Steven's cock.

The boy raises his legs up ever so slightly for him, allowing him better access. Brendan kisses round his thighs, dips his tongue into the hot skin and trails it down leisurely, over the crevices and small brown moles that cover Steven's body.

The boy groans, guides Brendan's head closer to his groin like he thinks he's teasing him, avoiding it on purpose. He's not, not this time. He's waiting for Steven to tell him what to do here, is constantly aware that he's lucky just to be allowed to be here with him again.

"Brendan."

He pulls his head away from nuzzling against Steven's thigh and looks up at him.

"It's okay, you know. I _want_ you to do this."

He can't understand why, can't understand how Steven could want someone so monstrous anywhere near him. Brendan's allowing this to happen because he's thinking about his own needs, knows that this is what he desires most in the world, but he's fighting the urge to tell Steven to stop him, that he can't let someone like him back into his life.

"Hey." Steven's not letting this go, is forcing him to look at him, his voice coaxing and soft. "I want you."

Brendan tries to believe it, aches to.

"Kiss me."

The boy's voice acts as a gravitational pull towards him, and Brendan climbs up his body, discarding his vest along the way so he can feel the rub of their skin against each other. He shivers against the friction of his chest hair brushing against the smoothness of Steven, has always found their contrasts delicious.

Steven anchors his head closer towards him, seems to get more of a mouthful of his moustache rather than his actual lips, but he's sure that this is the boy's intention by the way he laughs against his mouth, the quiet giggle making it impossible for Brendan not to return the smile.

Steven briefly moves away from him to shrug off the rest of his clothes, encourages Brendan to do the same by grappling with the front of his boxers. Brendan keeps the covers over them when Steven slips out of his own underwear, feels faintly ridiculous considering the things they've done to each other in the past, the places their mouths and hands have explored, but it feels like they're starting all over again now.

The boy's trying to calm him with kisses, and it's working. His hands are roaming down Brendan's body as his tongue delves with his, gently decreasing his resistance and giving Brendan the confidence to fool himself that he deserves him.

Brendan doesn't think he's ever kissed someone so much in his life. There's a certain pleasure to it, a pleasure that he's only just beginning to acknowledge. There's no sense of urgency now, no desperate need to be inside the boy.

He allows himself to enjoy this, the feel of their heated kisses and Steven's hands everywhere, eventually seeming to settle on his arse, pulling Brendan closer towards him.

He begins to grind against Steven's body, rub of their cocks together, can feel how achingly hard Steven is against him, already feels like he's close to coming. The boy's digging his nails into the skin of Brendan's arse, and he can feel his hands beginning to explore him, his fingers going lower.

He shudders when he feels the press of a single finger against his hole, unexpected and jolting.

It's not something he's done a lot in the past. It reminds him of things that he'd rather not be reminded of, of someone pushing their way inside when he wasn't ready, when he didn't ask for it or want it.

But this man isn't his father, is nothing like him.

He was only partly telling Steven the truth when he said he doesn't trust people. He _does_ trust this boy, as much as he's capable of ever thinking that he's safe with anyone.

Brendan reaches for his own cock between their bodies, starts stroking languidly while he presses his lips into Steven's neck, breathes into him _don't stop._

They're healing each other here.

The press against his entrance becomes something stronger, firmer, more self assured.

He feels the tip of Steven's finger beginning to enter him, probing and sinking into his tight and wet heat. Brendan clamps down on it at first, internal muscles feeling like he's rejecting it, but Steven's other hand is rubbing against his arse soothingly, calming and reassuring, and he forces himself to relax.

The finger's stretching him further now, and Brendan bites down on the boy's neck. He was meant to be _gentle_ here, but it's impossible to resist the boy's protests and silent begging, the way he's hardening against Brendan's stomach with each forceful suck of Brendan's teeth on him.

"Does that feel okay?" Steven says, senses how Brendan still hasn't completely let go, not yet.

His body feels tightly wound, braced for some kind of pain, knows that Steven would never hurt him deliberately, but the fear still holds power over him, the thought of what _could_ happen.

He's never willingly relinquished control like this before.

Brendan hums against Steven's throat, a muffled _yes_, can feel the push of Steven's single digit against his prostate, hitting the spot inside him again and again, feels like a spark's running through him.

He shuffles closer to the boy, leans forward on his knees to make his entrance more easily accessible. He transfers his hand from his own cock to Steven's and begins stroking him while the boy adds a second finger into him slowly.

Brendan wishes he had lube, would make this easier and less intimidating, but he's gradually adjusting to the feel of Steven's fingers exploring him, the hesitant back and forth slide that soon turns into assured and deliberate movements when Brendan kisses him encouragingly.

Brendan's places his hand around Steven's cock firmer, his strokes becoming harder. He feels perfect around him, just the right amount of thickness, and it's after ten minutes of doing this that he notices that something's changed.

"You want to give me some attention here too?" Brendan laughs.

Steven's stopped completely in his movements on him, has rolled his head back against the pillow, closed his eyes, eyelashes fluttering as he holds onto Brendan's shoulder, the hold on him tight as Brendan jerks him off.

"Sorry," he says. He looks dazed, opens his eyes like he's forgotten where he is for a moment.

There's a hint of a smile on his face, and Brendan only truly realises now how much he'd missed it.

"It's alright." He leans forward and rubs his nose against the boy's, nuzzling them together. "I'm joking."

He loves Steven like this, when he lies back and takes the pleasure that he deserves.

"It just feels so good."

Brendan concentrates on the way the boy's biting on his lip now, tongue occasionally darting out, looks hot as hell and like he's dying to be fucked.

"How good?" Brendan teases.

"Too good." The boy's smiling brightly now, that peculiar mixture of shyness and boldness that's ever present.

"No such thing as too good."

But he thinks there might be. He feels like he wants Steven _too much_, too overwhelming, too frightening.

Steven breaks off from him, stills Brendan's movements on his dick. It's not like him, is so entirely unlike him that Brendan knows there must be a catch. Steven never interrupts him when he's doing this.

He watches curiously for the boy's next move.

Steven scraps his fingers down Brendan's chest, encouraging him to lie on his back. Brendan lets himself be guided, senses that whatever's coming is going to be something he likes _a lot_.

He props his head on the pillow, watches as Steven climbs on top of him, smooth golden arse in his face.

For a second he thinks the boy's going to take him down balls deep, is going to start riding him, and the thought makes him dizzy.

But Steven's got other plans.

He shuffles backwards, ever closer to where Brendan's lips are, and Brendan slides his hands over Steven's back, fingers tracing his spine. He feels delicate in his arms, feels like he could count every bone in his slender body, but there's a strength to him as well, a bravery and a certain type of power that's its own kind of turn on.

He'd vastly underestimated Steven when they'd first met, but he'll never make that mistake again.

_Now_ he knows what Steven's going to do.

Steven swallows down his cock in one smooth motion, can feel the head of his dick hitting against the boy's throat as he bobs back and forth. He's good at this, really fucking good, feels like he could teach Brendan a thing or too, as reluctant as he'd ever be to admit it.

He's never been with someone whose gone from being so intimidated at his size to _this_, to taking him down effortlessly, Brendan's pubic hair lightly scratching against the boy's nose.

When Steven slurps it sounds like a humming sound, feels like it's shooting straight through Brendan's entire body, _mmmmhmmmm. _

He doesn't blame the boy for becoming distracted earlier, isn't sure how _he's_ going to concentrate considering what's being done to him right now.

He's going to give it his best shot though.

Brendan starts by kissing Steven's arse, rubs his moustache against it and causes the boy to break away from his cock, let out a giggle and push his arse back towards him, a wiggling gesture that makes Brendan want to laugh. Fucking shameless.

"Steven, Steven, so demanding..."

"Yeah, so what?"

Brendan can imagine his pout from where he's lying.

"It's been weeks."

Brendan's smile fades. _Weeks_. Because of him. Because of what he did. Something that an apology can't fix.

Steven's perceptive, always has been. He lays a kiss against Brendan's knee, a wordless source of comfort. It still doesn't stop him from grinding his arse back towards Brendan's mouth, and not for the first time Brendan wonders who's really in charge here.

He chuffs a laugh, and the sound seems to ease the boy's tension, makes him swallow him down to the root again, movement so sudden that it causes Brendan's legs to shudder and buckle.

"Come on," he whines, impatient as he always is, voice rising several octaves higher in desperation.

Brendan decides not to prolong the boy's sweet suffering and parts his cheeks, lets out a involuntary sigh when he sees his hole, looks _so_ tight, thinks that answers his question about whether Steven's been penetrated since they were last together.

Thank God.

He extends a finger and brushes it against the hair covering the boy's entrance. He remembers his desire to see the hair wet, the way it would turn darker from being covered in water. Now that they're together again, he's going to have to remind himself to put that to the test.

"Steven."

He hears the boy release him with a _pop_, and look back over his shoulder with eyes dripping with need, dark and like molten lava.

Brendan's certain that he could ask him to do anything right now and he would, eagerly.

"Open your mouth."

"I thought I just did." Cheeky fucker.

Brendan holds out a single finger towards him, making his intent clear. Steven moves closer to him immediately, lips already parted, and it's enough to make Brendan's heart rate increase, can't believe how much the boy wants it.

Steven guides him into his mouth, begins sucking and wetting him thoroughly. It's the kind of sight a man could dream of, and God knows it's been in Brendan's dreams, the punishing ones when he was without the boy.

The thing that destroys him the most is the way Steven never takes his eyes off him. He knows how much it affects him, knows that to tear his eyes away would be impossible. Steven's playing with him, exploiting his weaknesses, can't do a thing about it because of how fucking _good_ it feels.

Steven releases him when he's slicked up, goes right back to sucking at the head of Brendan's cock. He hasn't even had to ask. Jesus.

"Good boy," Brendan whispers, stroking down his spine as he parts the boy's arse cheeks once more, making sure that he doesn't undo Steven's hard work by drying his finger against his skin.

He begins to slowly open him up. Now there's the added thrill of remembering how it felt when Steven's fingers were in him, and he wants to make it just as good for the boy, wants to recreate that feeling of being set alight.

Steven stills when his finger begins to go deeper inside him. He stops in his movements, just keeps his mouth clamped around Brendan's cock, warm and solid while he waits for that moment when he can start fucking himself on Brendan's fingers.

When Brendan adds a second he begins to rock back gently, just the smallest amount. The groan that comes from him is one of the sexiest sounds Brendan's ever heard, torn from him like it's something beyond Steven's control.

Brendan puts a hand around Steven's stomach, trailing his fingers against the soft skin, feeling as sweat particles transfer onto him. He holds him, has to because he senses that Steven's increasingly getting out of control here, and needs an anchor to reality.

He takes his lips off from around Brendan's cock, and when he turns round to look at him his face is wanton, full of need.

"_Please."_ So pretty when he begs.

"Move back slowly." He sounds like he's panting, like he's just run a marathon, is too turned on to be even the slightest bit embarrassed.

Steven immediately obeys, rocks back and forth, those powerful legs of his tensing and then relaxing, his stomach muscles contracting around Brendan's hand.

Brendan just watches him, could watch him for the rest of his life just doing _this_, most perfect sight in the world. Steven's so, so wet, and the sound of his inner tissues around Brendan's fingers is obscene with every movement. He can hear it every time Steven breaks off from his _fuck Brendan, fucking hell _to bite down on Brendan's leg.

"Shall I get my tongue in there?" He doesn't need to, not when Steven's this ready, but they both _love_ it.

He can feel Steven nodding against his leg, and slowly withdraws his two fingers from inside the boy. Steven's entire body seems to shake when he eases out, lets out a loud and guttural groan and fists Brendan's cock rapidly, like some kind of reward for what he's just done to him.

The boy's hole is open to him now, and his tongue slips in easily, his resistance weakened. Steven's a mouthy little fucker, and not even biting down on his knuckles stops him from crying out.

Brendan can see an officer looking into the screen window out of the corner of his eye, disappears like the wind when he sees what they're doing.

They don't have to hide anymore. There's no fear of Walker finding them, of this being revealed. He feels free.

He loves the taste of him. It's not something he can put a name to, not something he can describe with flavours or textures. It's just _him_, just Steven, and it's addictive, his tongue twisting and coiling inside the boy's arse.

Even with Brendan's arm around him he can't be still, is pushing back against his mouth.

"I'm going to come soon," he sighs, almost sounds like defeat.

He knows how Steven gets like this, becomes so tightly wound, sheer frustration making him feel like he's going to explode.

Brendan knows him well enough to be able to tell that he's not going to come though, not yet, not even close.

The boy's just trying to get him to stick his dick in him.

Brendan reaches between their bodies, his hand grasping Steven's cock. It's hard, so unbearably hard. He squeezes it, and it causes the boy to let out a hiss.

"Brendan, I said -"

"You're not going to come," he says, removing his tongue briefly and sucking against the boy's arse cheek, making sure that he'll leave a bite there tomorrow.

He's wrong.

He feels something hot and sticky against his hand. Steven gasps, his body shuddering, shouts out Brendan's name as he comes down from the high.

Brendan laughs gruffly, withdrawing his hand from around the boy's cock.

"My mistake," he says, licking Steven's come from around his fingers until every drop is inside his mouth. He swallows it down, gives a low hum of appreciation and the boy a slap on the arse for good measure.

Brendan lifts Steven off from on top of him and climbs off the bed.

"Sorry."

The boy actually thinks he's disappointed, that he's let him down somehow.

Brendan just shakes his head, reaching inside his jeans pocket and taking out the condom.

"Never say sorry to me again."

Steven begins to get it, begins to smile at him, has that look in his eyes that says he knows _exactly_ what's about to happen, and fucking loves it.

Brendan tears the condom from its wrapper and puts it on.

"Lie down. I'm going to come inside you."


	20. Chapter 20

"Lie down. I'm going to come inside you."

Ste feels himself go hot all over at Brendan's words, his chest flushing and heaving, feels like adrenaline's pumping through him, the promise of what's going to happen making his hands shake.

He props himself up on the pillow, watches as Brendan moves closer towards him. He'd be intimated by the sheer size of the man if he didn't know he can take it, that they fit together perfectly.

Ste unconsciously licks his lips at the sight of him, so thick and _big_, and he parts his legs willingly. He thinks he must look obscene, the come that Brendan didn't manage to lick up still covering the inside of Ste's thighs, now drying against his skin and turning harder in consistency.

He considers jumping off the bed and quickly cleaning himself off at the sink, but he knows Brendan, is sure that the man will make him come again, that there's little point in trying to make himself look presentable now.

Brendan straddles him on the bed, his cock gently pressing against Ste's stomach. Ste's not sure what his expression's like at the moment, is glad he can't see himself for fear of embarrassment. Whatever Brendan reads in his eyes he seems to like, seems to make his own grow dark with intent, a smile on his lips that Ste could only describe as _seductive_.

Any doubts about this are far removed from his mind. This is the man he wants, the only person he can ever imagine making him feel this way. The fact that he's told Brendan that he loves him has made this stronger somehow, feels so good to have revealed the truth at last.

_I don't think I can live my life without you._

Ste believes him, and if it's up to him then they won't have to ever live without each other. This is forever now.

They barely take their lips off each other as Brendan pushes in. Ste senses that he's doing it to distract him, to force him to relax and breathe through any pain, but there is none. He feels so loose and ready.

Losing his virginity to another man had been clumsy and awkward, had been painful because he wasn't aroused enough to turn his nervousness into pleasure. Brendan makes him feel safe, wanted. He makes him want in return.

He wonders if Brendan can taste himself on his tongue. Ste had his lips wrapped around his cock moments before, and Brendan's kissing him hungrily now. It amazes him how he never seems to be afraid of anything when they're like this, how Brendan comes alive and uninhibited, like Ste can almost see him closing the door to the outside world, if only for a little while.

He wishes they could both do it all the time. Let everything else just fade away.

His hands are clawing down Brendan's back, thinks he must be in danger of drawing blood soon. When Brendan's mouth isn't on him he's gasping, can hear himself swearing but it's as though it's from someone else, someone unlike himself.

Brendan doesn't even start with slow and deep strokes like he usually does. His hip movements are uncoordinated and frenzied, and Ste's surprised his body can take it, doesn't know how he hasn't snapped in two by now from the man's movements, the way he's pummeling into him.

They're sliding up and down the bed, moving to a different position with each thrust. The bed's squeaks aren't as loud as the noises coming from them, and when Brendan kisses him Ste merely continues to shout, feels like the sound is going straight into the older man's mouth.

He's hard again, doesn't even know when that happened or _how_, how he can be this ready to come after he'd spilled all over Brendan's hands so recently. He's never seen Brendan quite like this, so completely desperate for him, like Ste's making him this uncontrolled.

It's the most powerful feeling Ste's ever known.

Brendan's kissing everywhere he can reach while he's moving inside him. His lips trail down Ste's throat, lick over his earlobe, kiss over his eyelashes like he's worshipping every single one, counting each with his tongue.

"_Bambi." _He whispers it and laughs, and it's so full of affection and fondness that Ste doesn't know what he can possibly say to explain how he's feeling.

He settles for the only thing he can manage right now, his hands making their way down towards Brendan's arse. He grips it, can feel it flex every time he moves more deeply into him, and his hands hold it firmly, encouraging him to go faster.

Brendan's face turns against his, his lips moving closer to his ear.

"Finger me."

Even with his insides feeling like they're on fire, Ste shivers.

"Yeah?" He asks, hears the way he sounds like he's in awe of the older man. He hadn't known if it was something that Brendan would allow him to do again, had understood how difficult it was for him to abdicate control like that.

God knows he'd enjoyed it though, the feeling of plunging in with his fingers, had made him imagine what it would be like to go in with his cock. It wasn't something he often did with anyone, and he'd never felt any real need to before, but with Brendan he wanted to do _everything_, because everything they'd done had felt so achingly good.

Brendan nods and slows down, his thrusts measured and more deliberate now. It allows Ste to get some of his breath back, to reach closer to Brendan's arse and finger his hole, tentatively rubbing at first, studying Brendan to see if he should stop.

Brendan rolls his hips, lets out a groan, makes Ste want to be buried in him forever just so he can hear it on repeat.

He takes that as confirmation to go in with his finger, easing the tip inside as Brendan carries on fucking him slowly.

Divine.

It feels intimate, private, something that only they've ever shared.

Ste has to believe that this is the way that things are going to be from now on. Losing this again isn't a possibility, isn't something he's sure that he can survive a second time. He hopes that Brendan's going to hold on just as strongly, that they're going to make this _work_.

Brendan's close, so agonisingly close to coming. He lifts one of Ste's legs up in the air, has the sole of his foot braced against his chest, allowing him to penetrate him even deeper. They can both hear an officer knocking on the door, the slam of a fist against the wood, _keep it down in there_, but they're in no position to hear him, let it wash over them like it's dust.

Brendan bites down on his shoulder, hard.

"Steven, I'm going to -"

Before he can even complete the sentence he comes, feels almost violent, causing Ste's body to shake with his. He can feel Brendan contracting around him, kissing him so roughly now that it feels like he's merely biting his lips, is sure that he can taste the metallic tang of blood.

Even in his exhausted state Brendan's still got his hand wrapped around Ste's dick, is pumping away until he suddenly eases his grip. Ste watches his curiously, pulse jittering when Brendan crawls down his body, and takes his dick in his mouth.

"_Oh my God."_

For once the noises that Brendan's making are louder than his own, can only be described as _slurping_. It should sound too much, too lewd, but he's never heard something so amazing, is dazzled by the way that Brendan stares up from under his lashes while he sucks him off.

He shoots down his throat, watches as Brendan swallows every last drop, doesn't look tempted to spit it out for one second. He looks like it's something he wants to taste, like he can't get enough of him.

When he pulls Ste towards him for a kiss he can't refuse, doesn't let his embarrassment at tasting his own come in Brendan's mouth, sour and still warm, let him be deterred. He knows that a part of Brendan gets off on this, testing Ste's boundaries and limits, seeing if he can push them that much further. He feels like he's already lived more in the near two months that he's been inside than in his entire life, because in so many ways, this time it's the life he _wants_ to live.

Every dark side of prison has been counterbalanced by the knowledge that he has Brendan.

Ste slowly rolls them over, feels an ache in his body, a reminder of everything that they've just done.

He feels a thousand sentiments die on his lips, doesn't want to run the risk of alienating Brendan. _That was amazing. Just lying here now, in your arms, it's..._

He has to distract himself from telling him he loves him again.

He could fall asleep right now. Brendan's stroking against his back, the movement so soothing that Ste closes his eyes, has his ear pressed against his chest. He's so closely moulded that he can hear his heartbeat, and its struggle to get back to its normal rhythm.

"That was amazing."

His eyes drift open. He wonders if Brendan could possibly have read his thoughts, and beams against his skin at how sincere he sounds.

"Yeah. Yeah, it was." Ste suddenly feels shy, doesn't know where it could come from considering what they just did. He's starting to realise that he and Brendan have no difficultly when it comes to this, to taking what they need from each others bodies. It's everything that comes before and after that's the problem.

But he doesn't want it to be a problem anymore. He's determined to not make the same mistake twice.

"_You're _amazing."

Ste laughs, running his fingers down Brendan's arm as a wordless appreciation for the compliment. He doesn't know how one person can manage to tear his life apart so spectacularly, and then stitch it back together again, good as new, better than it was before.

He knows Amy would tell him to get out while he still can. He's not sure that's even an option anymore.

"Are you glad you stayed?" It shocks him how vulnerable Brendan suddenly sounds, like a switch has been flicked.

"Of course." He nestles in closer, tries to show Brendan just how glad.

"After what I did to you..."

"Don't worry about that now," Ste interrupts, wants to enjoy how right everything feels, like the wounds of the past are being healed.

He shuffles closer to his favourite spot, laying his head underneath Brendan's chin. He can feel Brendan's lips on his hair, and it's lulling him to sleep, calming him. A part of him desperately wants to hang onto consciousness, fears the possibility that everything could be different in the morning.

He knows that Brendan can't disappear, not in this place, but the dread is still inside him at being separated from him again. Brendan's got his fair share of enemies in this place, and Ste doesn't know if they're strong enough to get through that, not when Brendan gave up so easily before.

He's going to have to be strong enough for them both.

Brendan reaches up and turns off the other light, and they're plunged into darkness. Sweat and come are drying on Ste's skin, but he's reluctant to move and wash it off. He doesn't want to leave Brendan's side.

"You horny little..."

Ste hadn't even realised that with one hand he'd been aimlessly stroking over Brendan's balls. The older man lets out a booming laugh, parts his legs the smallest amount, so subtle that Ste might not have noticed if he wasn't so finely tuned to Brendan's body.

He has no intention of going again right now, not when they're both this tired, not when his head's beginning to pound further because of the moonshine. He knows he'll regret it in the morning if he doesn't get any sleep, is bound to wake up with a killer hangover and barely have the ability to open his eyes to the light.

But he likes it, likes touching him as his limbs grow more slack with tiredness. He likes the soft rub of Brendan's balls, loose and hanging in his palm.

He hasn't even begun to explore them enough, the sensation and taste.

He sits up in the bed, is already parting his lips with the intention of putting his moistened mouth around Brendan's balls, but he collapses onto the pillow, laughing in defeat.

"What?" Brendan asks, stroking a stray strand of Ste's hair away from his face.

"I was going to do something, but it can wait," he says coyly, needs to regain some of the feeling back in his legs before he can begin to move them again.

"Sounds promising." He gives him the kind of look that would have them thrown out of a public place, makes Ste wish that he could find some energy from somewhere, anywhere.

"Maybe you'll find out some day."

He's sure he can feel Brendan smiling against him as he begins to fall asleep.

* * *

He wakes up with a splitting headache and a prominent erection, his brow wet to the touch. He can't remember exactly what he dreamed about, but whatever it was he's sure it involved a certain Irish moustached man, strong hands gripping his thighs, and a whisper in his ears, telling him exactly how he was going to ruin him.

For a single moment Ste panics, thinks he's woken up alone in the bed, abandoned. When he turns to his side and sees Brendan lying next to him he feels foolish, feels clingy and desperate and all the things that he's afraid to be.

The thought of Brendan leaving him is still terrifying, and he doesn't know how to make it go away, thinks the only solution may be time.

His breathing begins to return to its normal state, and it's then that he decides to do something about the _problem_.

He starts by kissing against Brendan's cheek lightly, deepening the touch when he remembers what a heavy sleeper he is. He moves on to Brendan's earlobe when this doesn't have the desired effect and tugs at it, but still nothing.

"Brendan." Ste shakes him, the only response that he receives consisting of a twitch of Brendan's nose, before he rolls over and resumes his slumber.

He's wondering whether to jerk himself off, but he wants more.

He rolls the cover off them and moves on top of Brendan. They're both naked, and rubbing his cock against the man's is doing nothing to decrease his arousal. His moustache is right in front of him now, and Ste has a strange amount of fascination with it, begins by tracing his finger over the hair, smiling when it prickles against his skin.

He leans forward and presses his lips against it, then moves onto Brendan's mouth.

He feels Brendan begin to respond, to stretch and instinctively stroke his hands along Ste's back. His eyes open slowly.

"Someone's up." He looks pointedly down at Ste's dick trapped between their bodies, and laughs at his own joke. Ste pushes him in mock annoyance, tries to prevent his own smile from showing through.

He leans his elbow against Brendan's chest, raising his eyebrows.

"What are you going to do about it?"

Brendan moves his hands lower, down to Ste's arse, challenge in his eyes to make Ste tell him exactly what he wants.

It's something he'd usually try to fight against, but he's hungry for a repeat of last night.

"Fuck me." Ste breathes it against his skin, is already reaching down towards Brendan's cock to try to make him hard.

"Steven, I can't."

Ste breaks away sharply, thinks he must have misheard.

"What?" He's aware of how incredibly pissed off he sounds right now.

"I only had one condom, and we used it last night."

He sighs, long and drawn out. "Can't you just get more? You never had trouble before." He plays with Brendan's chest hair, hoping to persuade him.

"That's because I used to get them from Walker."

Ste stops in his movements. "Oh."

"Yeah. Oh."

Fuck.

"Well what are we going to do?"

"Don't worry, I'll get them from someone else."

Ste's satisfied to note that Brendan looks just as disappointed as he is.

"In the meantime..."

Brendan grins wolfishly at him, flipping him over onto his back. Before Ste can even pause for breath he feels a wet pair of lips wrapped around his cock, and he grips the side of the bed, digging his fingers into it to diffuse some of the tension in his body.

He's sliding all the way down Brendan's throat, is relentless, the suction and the tight heat. Ste uses his free hand to rake his fingers through Brendan's hair, pulling it so roughly that he's amazed it doesn't fall out. He doesn't scold Ste for it, doesn't even comment, just opens his mouth wider and moves his head back and forth, looks fucking amazing, and Ste can't believe that this is happening to _him_.

When Brendan swallows him down they lie side by side again, Ste staring at him in amazement.

"I don't remember you being quite like that in the mornings."

"It's been a while," Ste says defensively, doesn't admit that he was scared to be this bold, this determined before.

Brendan goes over to the sink, runs the taps and chugs back water.

"I swear Steven, I feel like I haven't had anything but your come in my mouth in days."

"You, not eating?" But he remembers the sight of Brendan in the canteen, how he'd barely touched his plate recently, just stirred his food around with his fork.

"Maybe I've got my appetite back."

Brendan grabs his jeans from the floor.

"Going somewhere?" Ste had planned a day in bed, condoms be damned. He's always been safe, and he's pretty sure that Brendan has been too.

"I've got something to show you."

He stares at Brendan curiously, can't imagine what he could possibly want to see that's of interest outside of these four walls. It's not like they can actually _go_ anywhere.

"Get dressed." Brendan chucks his tracksuit bottoms over to him, and Ste reluctantly puts them on, grumbling until they're at the door.

It feels strange to be outside after a night spent touching and kissing and fucking each other. The last time he left this room was under completely different circumstances. The last time he walked down this hallway was when he and Brendan weren't even together, when he told himself he hated him.

Everything's changed now.

"Where are we going?"

"Come with me."

"Brendan..." He's not entirely sure he likes surprises.

"Come on!" Brendan smiles at him, leading him down one of the corridors.

The route feels familiar, _is_ familiar. Ste begins to feel a growing sense of dread, suddenly feels like he knows exactly where they're going.

Brendan stops in front of the door. "After breakfast, we're spending the morning in here."

* * *

He protests against it the entire way to the dining room, doesn't stop when they pick up their trays and join the queue.

"I can't do it." It's not up for discussion. He's not going back there.

"Why not?" Brendan grabs two boxes of cereal and four pieces of toast, appetite definitely back.

Ste doesn't want to say the real reason for his reluctance, thinks that surely it must be patently obvious.

"It's just not for me."

Brendan stares at him with mistrustful eyes. Ste hates how openly he can read him, how he's not believing any of this.

"You used to love cooking."

"I...liked it. That's all." That isn't all. Brendan's right, he _did_ love it, loved how he had finally found something that he was good at, felt like a revelation. He'd expected Tony to mock him, to try to control him and teach him the right way. He'd never met someone who'd simply wanted to help him, who encouraged him the way he had.

"What's really stopping you?" Brendan tries to fit almost a whole slice of toast in his mouth, doesn't even gag.

"Nothing. Look, I'll see you later, yeah?" He begins to walk away with his breakfast, the sight of Doug and Ethan sitting at the table filling him with calm.

They won't question him, won't force him to go back to the class.

"Hey." Ste feels a hand tugging at his sleeve, holding him back. "Don't I get an invitation?"

"What?"

"To your table. Bit rude of you not to invite me, don't you think?" Brendan stares at him in amusement.

Ste frowns. Brendan never joins him, not even when they first began sleeping together. He'd come to accept that it wasn't something they did, that they didn't sit together like they were a couple. It was the kind of thing people did in school, and yet...

And yet he wanted it.

"If you're just going to use it as an excuse to try and get me to come today -"

"What's wrong with that? I like making you come."

Ste shakes his head, leans forward and is just about to kiss the cheeky bastard when he sees Silas looking their way, looks like he's planning on committing his next murder. Death by fork.

"Alright then, you can sit with us. But play nice."

He feels Brendan giving his bum a squeeze as they make their way over to the table. Ste nearly drops his tray there and then, lets out a high pitched squeak and quickly tries to muffle the sound.

So much for playing nice.

Ethan and Doug are sitting at opposite sides, and Ste immediately chooses the chair next to Doug, decides that it'll be more safe considering the way that Brendan's eyes are already burning into the American.

He can sense their shock, the way their hands freeze mid air when Brendan joins them.

"Hiya." Ste's voice sounds unnatural, and it does nothing to diffuse the awkwardness of the situation.

Doug starts shoveling food into his mouth at a fast pace, looks like he's trying to start a new world record.

"How was your night?"

"Just like old times, wasn't it Doug?" Ethan says with false cheerfulness.

"Face masks and chick flicks then ladies?" Brendan asks, stirring his cereal.

Ste kicks him under the table, sees the quirk of Brendan's lips out of the corner of his eye.

"Actually, we were talking about my release."

Ste looks up at Doug in surprise. He'd known that his sentence wasn't as long as some of the other men in here, but he'd had no idea it would lapse so soon.

"You're getting out? When?"

"Around the same time as you."

Ste's sure he doesn't mistake the way that Doug looks straight at Brendan when he says this.

"That's brilliant news!"

"We should go out and celebrate - when we're both released I mean."

_Released_. The idea seems strangely foreign to Ste. It's difficult to imagine the day when he'll step outside of the gates. He doesn't know how he could go to a club, how he could sit with Doug and have a drink while Brendan's in here, alone again. Years, a lifetime spread before him in which to rot away.

He picks up his spoon, begins eating to distract himself. It's a painful thought, not one that he often allows himself to entertain. He can't start to think about it now, otherwise he doesn't know how to be happy again.

He can feel how tense Brendan is beside him. He's barely swallowing now, is just chewing over and over again, the heavy clench of his jaw looking like it's carved from solid plaster.

Ste puts a hand on Brendan's thigh. It makes the older man flinch, the touch unexpected, but after a moment he continues eating, acting like nothings happened. The table's high enough so that Doug and Ethan won't see, and Ste can tell that Brendan gets some comfort from that. It's a relief to not be pushed away, for Brendan to allow him to do this.

"And of course you're invited to mine and Lynsey's place."

"You're definitely moving in together then?"

"First thing I do when I get out."

Brendan's voice cuts through them, sharp and cold. "How are you going to pay the rent, Douglas?"

Ste's grip on Brendan's thigh tightens.

"I'll get a job, obviously."

Brendan laughs. "Because it's incredibly easy to get a job with a criminal record."

"Yeah, well we've all got criminal records in here, haven't we? One of us has to stand a chance."

"Not all of us have the same thing though, do we?" Brendan turns towards Ste, his eyes softening the smallest amount. "Steven did some shoplifting. Might have been stupid, but he did it to try and help his family. You dealt drugs, killed someone. Bit different, don't you think? How are you going to explain that in an interview? _I once murdered someone, but I don't anymore_?"

There's silence on the table. Ste doesn't know whether to intervene or keep his mouth shut, isn't sure what would help Doug the most. He knows how Doug hates people to defend his crime, but he hates being reminded of what he did just as much.

It's Ethan who speaks first.

"None of us are innocent on this table, Brendan."

"Not all of us are trying to drag an innocent woman down with us though, are we? What kind of life do you think you could offer her, Douglas? She'll always have to hide your relationship from the people she works with, unless she wants there to be an enquiry. Is she going to be paying your way, buying food and giving you a roof over your head for the rest of her life? She deserves more."

It feels like a pressure cooker on the table, feels like everything's about to snap at any given moment, and Ste can't do anything but watch.

Doug looks close to tears, staring down into his cereal like he wants to drown in it. Ste thinks he's going to have to watch the humiliation of him crying, doesn't know how he can stand it.

But when Doug looks into Brendan's eyes he looks determined, stronger than Ste's ever seen him.

"Is there any particular reason why you like hitting men where it can't be seen?"

Ste looks between them in confusion, disarmed by the change in subject. Brendan uses his hand to move Ste's own away from his thigh, and he feels the loss of contact acutely.

It feels like rejection.

"Something you want to say, Douglas?"

Ste can't believe that Doug's pushing it here, would be wise to walk away now. Ste knows that voice, knows that Brendan's close to erupting, and it's not something that any of them want to see.

"I was with him when you transferred cells, you know. I saw the bruises on his back when he got changed at night."

"Doug." He doesn't want to relive this. This was meant to be a clean slate.

Doug ignores him.

"It's exactly what you did to Vinnie, isn't it? Started off by hitting him in the ribs, where no one could see. Then you moved onto his face when he still didn't play by your rules."

"I'm warning you -"

Doug shakes his head, looks at Brendan with unconcealed revulsion. "Say whatever you like about me and Lynsey, but I'd never hurt her. You can't say the same, can you? I've only accepted this thing between you and Ste because he's my friend, but he could do so much better than you."

Doug climbs from his seat, Ethan immediately rising with him. "I hope one day he realises it too."

Doug stares back at Ste as if hoping he'll follow. He stays rooted to his seat. He's not choosing here, isn't some kind of game where he picks which side to be on.

But he can't leave Brendan.

He tries to ignore the way that Doug looks at him pityingly, as if he's just signed his life away.

When they're gone Brendan seems to deflate, the aggression leaving him. He rubs his forehead, closing his eyes. It feels like he's blocking Ste out, and he can't let that happen. Not when they were so close this morning, closer than Ste believed was possible. He can't experience that and let it be snatched away from him.

He isn't sure that he has the right words though. He tries to place his hand back on Brendan's thigh, to offer some sort of support, however small.

"Jesus Steven, stop pawing at me won't you?"

He removes his hand like he's been electrocuted, feels an extraordinary amount of hurt that he tries to not let show.

"I'm sorry." Brendan stutters. "Steven, I didn't..."

"I was just trying to help."

"I know. I don't deserve you."

He hates hearing Brendan say that, sounds like he believes it with the strongest conviction. _He_ gets to decides who deserves him, and he's already made his choice.

He lets Brendan cup a hand around his face, lets him pull him closer towards him.

"Aren't you worried someone might see?" He can't stop the bitterness from peppering his voice.

"I don't give a fuck if they do."

He moves so that their lips are inches from each other. For a second Ste thinks of pulling away, doesn't want Brendan to kiss him just to prove a point.

But it's impossible not to give in.

He smiles into the kiss, can't believe that Brendan's slipping his tongue in here, in front of most of the prison population. He knows that no one would dare challenge Brendan, would never dream of saying anything to him unless they want to risk getting hurt. But it's a thrill that Brendan feels proud enough of him to be this open, this affectionate when everyone's around to witness it.

When they break away Ste's surliness is gone, and Brendan's biting his lip, reminds Ste of a teenager who's just been snogging someone behind the bike sheds.

"You shouldn't have said that to Doug, you know." There's no anger in his voice now. There's not going to be an argument, not this time. He has no intention of risking what they have. He _likes_ how protective Brendan is of Lynsey, even if the possessiveness can be overwhelming.

"Someone had to tell the kid the way it's going to be. He has all these dreams..."

"Sometimes it's nice to have dreams." He doesn't mention that his own usually consist of the life he and Brendan could have together outside of this place.

"It's better to know that they'll never come true."

The way that Brendan says this devoid of any emotion scares him. It's fact to him, cold and hard fact, like he's already given up on something that was once possible.

Ste's about to protest it when Brendan finishes his last mouthful of toast, rising from his seat.

"Come on. We've got a cake to make."

Ste can't help but laugh, comes out something like a snigger.

"What?"

"Nothing. I just never thought I'd hear you say those words."

"Well, it may not be an actual cake. I'm feeling more in the mood for something savoury actually. You know how to make pasta, Steven?"

"I only know how to boil it -"

"You're a fast leaner. Come on." He offers his hand for Ste to take, and it's more tempting on its own than the proposition of cooking classes.

"I can't."

Brendan sighs, dropping his hand. "What are you so scared of?"

"I'm not scared of anything," he replies defensively. It's not the class that he's worried about. It's who's going to be there.

"You can tell me."

Ste knows he'a not going to be able to avoid it forever. He stares down at his hands, can't risk looking Brendan in the eye when he feels this exposed.

"Kevin's going to be there, isn't he?" He'd heard Ethan and Doug talking about it when they thought that he wasn't listening. He'd felt like he'd been replaced in Brendan's life in every possible way, that everything they'd ever had had been destroyed.

He wonders if Brendan thinks he's pathetic now, whether he can see how agonising it is to reveal his insecurities.

"This is about Kevin?" Brendan sounds surprised, and Ste can't believe how he hadn't realised how much it would effect him, just seeing them together in the same room.

"You and him..." He can't finish the sentence.

"Nothing happened. We didn't even kiss."

"Yeah, but something was going to happen, wasn't it?" Somehow that feels enough.

"Steven, he's just a council rat in a tracksuit."

"You're describing me when I was younger." Ste smiles brightly when he says it, but there's a waver in his voice, a vulnerability there that Brendan could easily pick at if he wanted to.

Brendan shakes his head, lifts him up from the table and looks down at his lips. They're standing so close together that Ste can smell the aftershave on him, could trail his tongue along his moustache.

"I prefer the more mature, experienced council rat now." He looks like he wants to show him just how much he prefers him, and Ste doesn't understand why they can't forsake cookery classes for a day spent in bed.

Brendan's being an insistent bastard today though.

"No excuses. You're going."

"You can't make me," Ste replies stubbornly, wonders whether he could run back to his cell before Brendan could catch him.

"I'll put you over my shoulder and drag you all the way there if I have to." He holds his arms out, a promise that he's willing to follow through on his threat.

"I don't know why this is so important to you."

"Because it's important to you. Even if you don't know it yet."

Brendan's words have the desired effect. He's a master at manipulating him, and Ste can never resist him like this, eyes large and dark and soft, looking at him like he cares about him.

He's starting to think that it may not be impossible, that Brendan Brady could actually love him.

Ste follows him down the corridor. Everything that he lost in the last few weeks is slowly coming back to him. He's afraid to have this much to lose again, but it's hard not to believe that he's in safe hands with Brendan when he makes him feel this protected. He tries to block the images from his mind that tell him that Brendan will choose Kevin over him, and he'll be laughed at, alone again.

Tony's there to greet him when he enters the class, bounding over to him and pulling him into a vice like grip, before seeming to remember the professional approach he's supposed to be taking, and releasing him from his hold.

"I'm so pleased you're back."

"Me too." It's only half a lie. It's comforting to be back in what feels like an almost familiar surrounding. He hadn't realised how he'd actually missed being in this place.

"I think you should have the honour of choosing the dish we make, Ste."

Ste hears footsteps behind him and a loud, exaggerated sigh.

"I never get to choose."

He rolls his eyes when he recognises Silas's voice, stomach tensing when Brendan turns round to face the older man.

"Steven's back. It's Steven's choice." He leaves no room for argument, makes it sound like this is a life or death situation.

"Brendan, it's okay." Ste lays a hand on his arm, watches as Brendan stares Silas down until he eventually leaves, meandering in the back of the class and looking in their direction, looking like he's debating on whether to trap both their bodies in the oven.

Tony looks intensely relieved not to have to break up another fight, motioning for Ste to join him in the corner of the room with an array of cookbooks. Ste smiles over at Brendan, attempting to process the dishes _steak au poivre_ and _pot au feu. _

He loses all concentration when he sees Kevin enter the room. The boy stares from Ste to Brendan, then takes a seat at the table that Ste used to use. The table that Brendan's put his jacket on.

He feels something rip through him, something he's never felt before, not to this extent, not so that it takes over all rational thought.

Jealousy gnaws at him, ugly and twisted.

He wants Kevin gone.


	21. Chapter 21

Brendan's starting to regret his decision to bring Steven here.

He feels the atmosphere in the room shift the minute Kevin walks through the door. He couldn't care less if the kid's here. Any initial intrigue he felt towards the lad has been replaced by the desire he feels for Steven. Kevin was a toy, a distraction from the thing he most wanted to forget.

But his presence in the class is affecting Steven, and for this he needs the kid gone.

He watches as Steven moves away from Tony, his eyes never wavering from Kevin. He looks determined, his face and body rigid. Like he could do some serious damage.

What Steven may be lacking in muscle and height, he's making up for in anger. Brendan knows first hand how that's the most important ingredient in a fight, that without it you may as well be the toughest man in the world and you'll still end up on the floor.

He keeps closely behind the boy, doesn't want him doing anything reckless here, especially not with Tony standing inches away.

"You're in my seat." Steven's voice is like steel.

Kevin blinks, plays innocent. Brendan's not so sure that he is, has dealt with his fair share of doe eyed boys in the past who are anything but naive, who'll try and steal your wallet when you're not looking, and rob you for every cent you're worth.

"Sorry, I didn't know these seats were assigned." There's an edge to his voice that Brendan doesn't like.

He's staring back at Steven, mouthing off and being deliberately difficult. Brendan's not going to let that happen, feels something like rage rising in him already.

But he still doesn't intervene. He wants to see how Steven will handle this. There's something about watching him have power over another person that fascinates him, that makes his dick hard.

"That's Brendan's jacket," the boy nods, motioning to the table where his clothing is sprawled. "And I'm with Brendan."

No one misses the inflection of the _with_, the fact that Steven's clearly not just talking about cooking here.

"There's plenty of room, isn't there?"

"Yes, come on Ste," Tony intervenes uneasily. "I'm sure the three of you can work together."

Steven laughs, turning towards Brendan. "You two were partners, then?"

Brendan nods slowly, wishes he could take back everything about these last few weeks, but he can't.

"Yeah, we were...together." Kevin's voice rings out loud and clear, unavoidable.

Brendan stares at him, wondering how he can have the nerve to say that. He's starting to think he's doing this on purpose, that it's no accident.

"Get your arse off Steven's seat, kid."

It's not what Kevin was expecting to hear, and his face drops. He underestimated Brendan's loyalty.

He shifts reluctantly from the chair, and Tony visibly relaxes, allows himself to be distracted by Silas and his protestations about not being able to choose today's dish.

It's exactly what Kevin wanted. He uses his absence to look Steven up and down, barely concealed judgement in his eyes.

"Can I be honest with you?"

Brendan narrows his eyes. Honesty can often be an excuse to be a bastard.

"Go on."

"You can do better."

Brendan's jaw twitches, and he hears himself beginning to laugh. "I think most of us could do better than prison, Kevin."

He knows that's not what this is about though.

"No. I'm not talking about that." He laughs like this is all a game.

"You're talking about Steven." He looks at the boy, at everything he is, the crown of golden hair and the long, sooty lashes and the caramel coloured skin. The vulnerability. The strength.

He turns back towards Kevin. "I like that. I see what you did there."

Except he doesn't like it, and he doesn't see. No one on this earth could ever do better than Steven Hay.

"No offense, but I don't know what you see in him."

Brendan can see Steven's anger rising, how he's close to hitting Kevin. He's not going to allow that to happen. The boy's freedom is worth too much.

But his own freedom is worth nothing, not when he doesn't have it to lose. He doesn't have to stand here and listen while Kevin insults the thing he cares about the most.

In one fluid move he has Kevin pinned to the table, his face pressed against it. The kid struggles in his grasp, but Brendan's grip is solid, unwavering. He becomes animalistic when someone tries to hurt the things that belong to him.

"Why is it when someone says no offense they immediately follow it up with something really offensive. Why is that?" He whispers _why why why _into the lad's ear, his hand firmly holding Kevin's head.

He can see Tony's panic when he notices what's going on, and his rush to get to their side of the room to break it up.

He's going to make sure that Kevin hears him saying this first though.

"You make another crack about Steven again and I will kill you. Do you understand?"

Kevin frantically mutters _yes_, but Brendan's still not sure if he's learnt his lesson, has had payback for humiliating Steven. He looks at the boy out of the corner of his eye, expects his reaction to be furious, for him to start accusing Brendan of interfering and getting himself into trouble.

But there's a spark in Steven's eyes. He looks excited, can barely look away.

"Alright you two, that's enough!" Tony comes between them, making Brendan release his hand from around Kevin. Brendan could easily fight him if he wanted to, but there's little point in prolonging this. If he beats the kid up then he'll be put in segregation, and he's not being parted from Steven again.

"It was him - he started it," Kevin protests, sounding like a school kid in the playground. Brendan rolls his eyes. He can't believe that only a few years separate Kevin and Steven, when Steven's his superior in every sense.

"Are you hurt?" Tony asks him, scanning his body for bruises.

Kevin shakes his head but it's slow, deliberately designed to leave that question mark. He's milking this for all it's worth.

Brendan only has eyes for one man now. He looks at Steven, is anxious to make sure that he's okay, both from bearing the brunt of Kevin's insults and from what he just did to the kid.

He's sure that he catches the smile that Steven throws his way.

"Brendan, I want you in my office when the class finishes."

"Sure thing," he drawls, is already beginning to conjure up the excuses he can come up with. Tony's got nothing on him if he hasn't drawn blood or created a mark.

He puts an arm loosely around Steven's shoulder, is about to steer him to the seat that Kevin's vacated.

"You're not coming to today's class."

He takes his arm away. "What?"

"You can come back next week Brendan, if your behaviour doesn't give me cause to believe that you can't stay calm."

He's never wanted to stay in a cookery class so much in his life. He'd imagined a morning spent watching Steven using those talented hands of his, feeding him giant mouthfuls of steaming hot pasta.

"I barely touched the kid! I'm not going to do anything else."

"Please let him stay, Tony. Kevin was winding him up." Steven's voice is lowered, softer than it was before, designed to coerce.

"I'm sorry Ste, but I don't allow any fighting in here. Go back to your cell Brendan, and come to my office at the end of the class."

Brendan gives one last parting look at Steven before he leaves, mouthing _it's fine_, trying to reassure the boy. He can see concern in Steven's eyes, and it hurts him to see him worry about anything, most of all him.

He doesn't go back to his cell, doesn't even begin to make his way there. The corridor's quiet, and Brendan knows that most of the men will be at the gym or the pool table, and he's not likely to be interrupted.

He looks through the window of the door. It allows him access to Steven's table, and he watches as the boy begins to chop tomatoes for the pasta dish. An officer's keeping a close eye on him while he uses the knife, and Brendan can see how this is only serving to add to Steven's agitation. He looks pissed as hell, clearly resenting the fact that he's under suspicion of potentially hurting someone.

The glare of the officer doesn't stop Steven from throwing glances at Kevin though. Brendan laughs, can't help feeling somewhat proud of the boy, looks like he wants to kill Kevin with his eyes alone. He's chopping harshly with the knife while he regards the kid, and Brendan can read every murderous thought in his head.

He's never had someone be this jealous because of him before. It would ordinarily make him feel stifled, controlled. He's not anyone's property.

But he wouldn't mind belonging to Steven.

He stays outside the door until the class ends. He could watch Steven forever, is almost disappointed when time's up and he sees the men finishing their food.

Brendan leans against the wall away from the window, trying to pretend that he wasn't spying, doesn't want to scare the boy and make him think he can't take his eyes off him, even if that's the case.

Steven comes out first, looks like he's raced out of the classroom before anyone else. His lips are red from the tomato sauce, and Brendan kisses him, transferring the flavour into his own mouth. He doesn't know what's sweeter.

"I must taste all garlicky" Steven complains, covering his mouth when Brendan finally releases him.

"Lucky for you, I happen to like garlic." He's dying to get his lips back to where they most want to be.

"I wish you'd been able to stay."

"Me too," he says honestly. These classes had been nothing more than an excuse for him to have something other than prison food made for him, but ever since Steven arrived they've become a reason for them to spend time together.

"I did manage to get you some leftovers though," Steven says with a grin, and reveals the plastic bag that he's been hiding behind his back.

It's a small gesture, but it somehow knocks the breath out of Brendan. The knowledge that Steven thought about him to that extent makes warmth flood through him.

"Maybe you can feed it to me later." It helps to stop him from saying anything overly sentimental, but he finds he's only half joking, and Steven can tell.

"Maybe I will."

Brendan can now understand where the term bedroom eyes came from, thinks that it must have been invented by this boy.

"Well, duty calls." Brendan gives him another kiss, far too chaste for what he'd like, but there's time for more later. He motions to the classroom, where Tony is.

"Brendan." Steven's holding onto his arm, his grip tight. He's got those frantic, worried eyes again, blue and framed by lashes which are mesmerising. "Don't get into any trouble, yeah? Just...apologise."

"I didn't do anything wrong, Steven." He's convinced of this. If someone hurts Steven then he's not going to stand back and let it happen. It doesn't work like that.

Steven puts a hand through Brendan's hair and strokes it tenderly, his voice purposefully trying to soothe.

"I know you were just looking out for me. But Tony's not going to see it like that, is he?"

Brendan looks behind Steven's shoulder, sees Tony coming out of the classroom. He gives him a nod, gesturing for Brendan to follow him to his office.

He has to be sure that he's not the only one who stays safe here.

Brendan pulls Steven close, whispers in his ear. "Don't do anything to Kevin, yeah? Stay away from him."

He releases the boy, trying to gauge from his expression whether anything he's just said has sunk in. Brendan had seen the steely look of determination and aggression before, knows that Steven's not quite as unlike him as he'd have him think. He'd seen it when Steven had punched Walker, had recognised that jealousy was something that was capable of igniting him.

He's reassured enough by what he sees to leave Steven in the corridor and follow Tony, making sure that he gives the boy a parting look before he disappears from his eye line. A promise of what's to come.

When they reach Tony's office Brendan sits down, feet propped up onto the desk while he slouches in his chair.

Tony gives him a disapproving look.

"This isn't a hotel, Brendan. Feet down."

Brendan sighs, but obeys the order. He just wants to get this over with. He's been here a million times before, feels like he's been called to the headmasters office for a stern telling off. Any fear he once felt over the consequences of his actions has gone, is replaced by an arrogant cockiness, a belief that he's invincible in this place.

Tony gets straight to the point, and for that Brendan's grateful.

"So, do you want to tell me what happened with you and Kevin today? Last week you two seemed close, and now I find you trying to starve the boy of oxygen."

He says close in a way that sparks Brendan's attention, makes him question his assessment of Tony being blind to what's really going on in this place.

He's debating whether to tell the truth or feed Tony more lies.

He surprises himself by saying something real.

"He was having a go at Steven. This...Kevin." He says his name like it's something unpleasant. He feels ashamed for having even contemplated sleeping with the lad. If he'd known back then that Steven had never told Walker anything about Seamus, then he'd have never touched Kevin.

Now he feels like he's got them both into a trap, something that's not proving easy to get out of. Kevin's annoyingly resilient, seems to follow them around like a bad smell.

"What did he say?"

Brendan doesn't want to repeat the insult. It makes him furious just thinking about it, and speaking it out loud would feel like a betrayal of Steven.

He shakes his head non committedly, and Tony looks disappointed, but unsurprised.

"Brendan, I don't think I have to remind you that you haven't got a clean track record."

"And yet you are reminding me, Anthony."

Tony's not in a joking mood today. Usually Brendan can raise a smile out of him, has the effect of making the governor talk to him like they're old friends. But he's not taking the bait, not this time.

"You're still under our investigations for Warren Fox's hospitalisation."

Brendan sits up sharply at this, feels blood rising to the surface of his skin, hot and sticky.

It's news to him. He hasn't heard anything about Warren in a long time, has barely even thought about him. After the initial first weeks of celebrations from the prisoners, his name had seemed to fade without memory.

As far as all the men were concerned, Fox was dead, or as good as. No one had high hopes of him waking up from his coma.

"Who said that I have anything to do with it?" He's surprised by how offended he sounds, as though he's managed to convince even himself that he's an innocent party.

He suddenly wonders if Warren's woken up, if he saw something before Brendan had managed to knock him out with one punch, and he's snitched the whole tale to the officers. He wonders if those destroyed CCTV tapes have made a miraculous recovery, and weren't so destroyed after all.

But Tony's not confident enough for that. If they had firm evidence against him then they would have done something already, not left him in his cell for weeks, free to fuck Steven and able to keep the few privileges that he has in here.

The man's testing him, has nothing solid against him, but he knows. Turns out he's not such an idiot and dreamer after all. He knows Brendan was the one to hurt Warren, and it's floating in the air between them now, unsaid but clouding both their minds.

"Everyone's a suspect until we find out who was responsible, Brendan."

They both know it's bullshit, that Douglas and Ethan are in the clear, that no one's pointing any fingers at Steven. If Brendan wanted to he could accuse Tony of discriminating against him, but even he can't go that far, not when everything he suspects of him is true.

"Is that all? Can I go now?"

"If that happens again in my class then you're out for good."

"It won't." He plans to keep his temper more in check, to wait and keep anymore incidents with Kevin for outside of the class, where no one will be able to save the kid as easily.

He can't risk leaving Steven alone again like that. The boy could do any manner of damage to Kevin, and Brendan would rather have his sentence extended by another ten years than see Steven punished.

Brendan rises from his seat, expecting for the meeting to be adjourned. He has plans, namely one.

He almost twitches in frustration when Tony calls him back. Brendan barely bothers to sit back down in the chair, just perches on the edge.

"You and Ste."

"Steven," Brendan corrects automatically, unable to stop himself. He really wishes that people would understand the importance of real, full names.

Tony ignores him.

"He's a young guy, isn't he? Only twenty three?"

"Point?" He's got a pasta dish back in his cell and said twenty three year old, and he'd like to be devouring both of them right about now.

"He's...vulnerable," Tony says uneasily, and Brendan wonders why he's trying to focus on anything but his eyes right now. "He's still relatively new here."

Brendan has a feeling he knows where this is going. Him being the villain in this, again. The only part that anyone will ever allow him to play. It makes trying to be anything but that extremely difficult, difficult to the point that it's hard to imagine trying.

"I don't think this is any of your business, do you?" He resists the urge to add _to know who I'm fucking._

"You know me. I've never been the typical governor."

He can't argue with that. He's never come across another prison governor who dons a chefs hat and runs a cookery class.

"You think I'm going to destroy him?" The words may be melodramatic, but Brendan's aware that with him, it's no exaggeration. It's what he's done before.

"I just don't want another Vinnie on our hands."

No matter how much time passes, the mention of that name always causes a reaction in him. A stab of pain at what he did to the boy, how he was responsible for everything, indirectly or not.

The thought of Steven going the same way as Vincent isn't a possibility. He can't let that happen, may die if it does.

"You don't have to worry about that." He's not used to having to reassure someone like this, but it's as much for his own effort as it is for Tony's. The thoughts have been swimming in his own head too. He's scared of leaving Steven alone for too long in case harm comes to him.

He sees the possibility of killing two birds with one stone. Returning to the cookery classes and making sure the boy is safe.

"In fact, I want to request a transfer." He says it casually, as though his skin's not warming at the thought of him and Steven, alone again. No Ethan nattering in his ear when he's trying to listen to music. No Douglas in the cell with Steven, where he could be poisoning his mind against him.

It's the way things should have always stayed, and he's angry at himself for ever causing the separation to begin with.

Only Tony doesn't seem to have the same idea as him.

"Out of the question."

Brendan's not used to being refused anything. He'd expected this to be easy, as easy as it was to move cells in the first place.

"Excuse me?" His tone is a stark contrast to the politeness of his words. It sounds like he's swearing at him.

"This isn't wife swap, Brendan. We already uprooted everything the first time."

Brendan laughs, failing to see how Tony doesn't realise the ridiculousness of the situation. He thought he was asking him to keep Steven safe, to not push him away like he'd done with Vincent. He can't ensure the boy's protection if he's not with him at night.

The cell doors may be locked, but that won't stop some people from getting in. A man like Simon Walker doesn't give up, and there are plenty of others who would want to get their revenge on Brendan by hurting the thing that means the most to him.

"All you have to do is swap me and the Yank again."

"What happened to you saying that you couldn't live with Ste, that you'd end up hurting him if you did? That it was for his own safety that he be moved?"

Brendan winces at hearing his own words being repeated back to him. He hadn't entirely been lying. If he'd had to stay in the cell with Steven then he was under risk of hurting him, hurting him more than he already had.

"We've...patched things up." He doesn't want to tell Tony the details, but he knows he gets the deeper meaning.

"I'm sorry, but I think it's best that you stay as you are for now. Ste seems settled. He looks happier."

Happier because he's back where he belongs, with the person he belongs with. But Brendan doesn't voice such a sentimental thought.

He rises from the edge of the chair. He's had enough of this now. Tony's not someone he can buy off like he can Darren and the other officers. He can't threaten him, can't beat him up. Even if he could, those days of extreme violence seem strangely behind him all of a sudden, like they existed in another life. He should be concentrating on Walker most of all now, should want to dig him a hole in the ground and lay his body next to Seamus's for his twisted lies.

But if he and Walker were locked in a room, one of them wouldn't come out alive. Fifty fifty odds aren't really Brendan's thing these days. He's got too much to lose.

He doesn't leave a parting gesture, has no inclination to either be polite or to intimidate the man. He can see that Tony has a genuine affection for Steven, and for that he earns a grudging sense of respect from Brendan.

When he leaves the office he immediately makes his way back to the cell, doesn't waver when one of the men nods over to him, motioning for him to join them in their game of pool.

He doesn't know whether he's being lead by his stomach or his dick, but he's outside of Steven's cell in minutes, checking through the window to see if the boy's alone. He breathes a sigh of relief when he sees him on his bed, legs crossed. His relief turns to confusion at what Steven's doing.

"I never thought this day would come."

Steven looks up when he enters, frowning.

"What are you on about?"

Brendan gestures to what Steven's holding. "Are you feeling okay?"

In return for his cheek he gets the book hurled at him, and he ducks to narrowly avoid being hit.

He laughs, picking up the book from the floor.

"Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde."

"I saw you had a copy in your cell," Steven says sheepishly, looking like he's been caught smoking by his teacher.

"Aw, that's cute," Brendan mocks. "Wanted to have an in depth discussion of literature with me did you?"

"Shut up." The boy's cheeks are colouring. "There's no point anyway. I can hardly understand any of the words."

Brendan hears Steven mutter _stupid_ under his breath.

"Hey." He strides over to him, tilting his chin towards him so that the boy's looking directly into his eyes. "You're not stupid."

He wills Steven to believe this the same way that he does.

"Who did you get this from, anyway?" He already knows the answer. There's only one person who Tony's hired as the librarian here.

"That Silas guy - you know, the one from Tony's class."

"Stay away from him."

Steven laughs at the sudden intensity in his voice. He's still naive to the way that things are in here, doesn't realise that when Brendan says stay away it's no idle threat.

"He's just an old man."

"Yeah, an old man who's in here for killing young girls and stealing their jewellery as a calling card." He feels sick at the thought, has seen the way that Silas's eyes glaze over Cheryl when she visits, clearly disapproving of her short skirts, low cut tops and make up.

"If you need any books in the future, let me get them for you."

"I don't think you have to worry about that." Steven stares at the book in Brendan's hand, looking at it like it's about to form teeth and bite him. "It was a ridiculous idea."

"Then why did you do it?" He wasn't meant to say that out loud.

Steven shrugs his shoulders. "I just wanted to...I don't know." The boy squirms uncomfortably.

He does know though. Brendan can tell.

"What?" He probes, voice low to encourage him.

"Impress you." Steven looks acutely embarrassed, and Brendan feels a pang of guilt, feels like he's just dragged the words out of the boy, kicking and screaming.

"You already impress me." He places a hand on Steven's thigh, repeating what the boy had done to him earlier.

"I don't mean...not just that. Not just when we're..." He raises his eyebrows. "You know."

"Fucking?" He sees no point in being prude, hasn't been his whole life and isn't going to start now.

"I don't want that to be the only reason that you're with me."

Fucking hell. Is that what the boy really thinks?

"Steven. I'm not going to tell you that that isn't part of the attraction, because it is. You're hot in bed." He watches as Steven basks under the compliment like it's the sun filling his body with warmth. "But that's not the only reason."

"What are the other reasons?" Steven smirks. He's definitely fishing here, but Brendan senses that it's also important to him.

"You've got a fuckable little arse." Brendan's eyes travel down to it. "Soft skin that tastes..." His lips go to it, kissing against Steven's cheek. "Delicious," he finishes, inhaling the boy's scent for good measure. "These eyelashes that drive me crazy..." He reaches out and brushes his fingertips over them, Steven closing his eyes to assist him. "And a cock that -"

"Brendan!" Steven scolds, pulling away sharply. "These are all physical things!"

What does he want him to say? Start spouting poetry about how much he loves spending time with him? That's not Brendan.

But Steven's face is full of hope, and he can't let him down like that.

"That annoying laugh of yours can be...okay. Sometimes."

"Sometimes?" Steven says, hint of a smile on his lips.

"Don't get carried away. And that...thing you do, where you tell people exactly what you're thinking, even me. That's...alright. It can be...charming. Different."

He can't believe he's saying this.

"And your cooking, that's pretty good too. In fact, I wouldn't mind having some of it right now."

Steven gets the message, goes over to the desk and gets the tupperware box out from the carrier bag, equipped with two sets of plastic knives and forks.

He settles back onto the bed, and it occurs to Brendan that this may be the closest thing that he's had to a picnic in years. He never thought he would enjoy something like this, but it feels good. More natural than he would have believed possible.

They eat in silence at first, both too hungry to talk. The pasta's amazing. Brendan knows that Steven and Tony must have done most of the cooking and preparation. Some of the men are capable of rustling up an omelette or a cake if they put their brains to it, but this tastes like something you'd get at a restaurant.

Steven laughs at the way that Brendan spills most the sauce down his chin.

"Scoop it up for me then," Brendan challenges, and Steven extends a finger. "Who said anything about your hands?"

Steven hesitates for less than a second before leaning forward, his wet and pink tongue sticking out. He giggles but then seems to lose his inhibitions, lapping at the sauce around Brendan's moustache and stubble with fervour.

"You're disgusting, asking me to do that," Steven says when he draws back, but he doesn't sound disgusted.

"Ever think about opening a restaurant, Steven?" He asks, chewing his last mouthful of pasta.

The boy looks at him like he's just developed wings.

"Are you kidding? Me, run a restaurant? Who would come? I'd probably burn the place down."

"You're a brilliant cook." It's not a lie. He wouldn't be dishonest with the boy, has no reason to boost others egos with false sentiments.

"Even if that were true, how would I deal with the money, the accounts? I don't know the first thing about running a business."

Brendan's about to tell him that he'll help him, when he realises that he can't.

"You could run it with someone. Find a partner." A strictly platonic partner.

Steven shakes his head resolutely, giving up on the idea before he's even considered it. The lack of faith is startling to Brendan, can't understand why someone who has the world at their feet is drowning themselves.

He hates what Steven's parents did to him. Hates how he could have done that to Declan and Paddy, even in the short time that they were together. He hopes they won't grow up to have such a destructive opinion of who they are.

"Where are you going?" Steven asks when Brendan makes his way towards the door.

"I've got to go and pay a visit to Osborne." He still owes him the money for last night, and he doesn't want to risk Darren telling anyone about their little arrangement if he doesn't cough up. "I'll be back later tonight."

"Wait." The boy pulls on his sleeve, almost falling off the bed to do so. "Doug will be here by then. I don't think you and him being together is a good idea."

"Don't worry. I've got a plan."

He leaves the cell with a wink.

* * *

Brendan's plan consists of waiting outside Steven's cell until he sees Douglas leave. The minute he sees the American moving down the corridor he walks out from his hiding place, quickly opening the cell door and startling the boy. Steven's used Douglas's absence to change into his pajamas, and Brendan smiles at how baggy they are on him, look like they're swallowing him whole.

"What are you doing in here?" Insolent. Pouting.

"I told you I'd be back."

"Yeah, but Doug's just gone to see Ethan quickly. He'll be back any second, and if he finds you in here -"

"Relax." Brendan puts his hands on Steven's shoulders, fingers rubbing against their pressure points. "Osborne's not working tonight, so looks like I'll be sleeping in my own cell. I just thought that before lockdown we could..."

He kisses Steven, showing him exactly what the _could_ consists of.

"No way. There's not enough time."

"That's why it's called a quickie." Their kiss is deeper this time, Brendan attempting to show the boy exactly what he'd be missing.

"We really shouldn't."

But he can hear how weak Steven's protests are, how it'll only take another kiss to make his resistance collapse entirely.

He settles for pushing the boy down onto the push with a heavy oomph. Whether Steven will admit it or not, he loves being shown who's boss.

Brendan crawls on top of him, laughing into Steven's mouth. He can still taste the hint of garlic and onions from the pasta, and he licks across Steven's lips, the sensation heady and irresistible.

"You're so bad," Steven says, making a clawing gesture with his hand across Brendan's chest, digging into his shirt.

The irony of his sentence makes Brendan smile. If anything he struggles to keep up with Steven's carnal nature.

He decides to play along instead.

"Want me to remind you just how bad I can be?"

He expects Steven to laugh, but his breathing turns increasingly shallow, and his legs wrap around Brendan's waist, the soles of his feet rubbing against his back.

"Please."

Brendan can't believe how easily he's managed to erase any thoughts of Douglas from the boy's mind. Moments ago he looked ready to throw him out of the cell, and now he's gyrating his hole against Brendan's groin.

Brendan reaches into his jeans pocket, pulling out a handful of condom wrappers.

"New supplier?" Steven guesses, eyeing them like they're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

"New supplier." He doesn't reveal that he snuck into Walker's cell earlier and stole almost a lifetime's supply from his hiding place. The man could open his own Durex factory.

He lifts Steven's t-shirt up, craving the skin on skin contact. His mouth goes straight to the boy's nipples, tongue swirling over them. He's learnt that they're sensitive spots for him, that if he concentrates enough on them then he can give the boy a semi.

Luckily for Brendan, a lot of areas on Steven's body seem to be sensitive spots.

"All the better to fuck you with."

"Does that make me little red riding hood?" Steven asks, stroking Brendan's hair while his tongue moves lower.

Brendan cuts off, staring up at him.

"I read it to the kids" he explains. He giggles. "Now I'm just imagining you as the big bad wolf. You're hairy enough to be him."

"Oh yeah?" Brendan cocks an eyebrow, then guides Steven's hand over the buckle of his jeans, down into his boxers. Steven's fingers ghost along his shaft, brushing against his pubic hairs. "Like that, do you?"

"Maybe."

"It's very distracting when you do that, you know."

"What?"

"Bite your lip." Brendan stares down at Steven's mouth, at the fullness of it. He traces a hand over it. "Perfect blowjob lips."

"Maybe we should put that to the test. Just to remind you."

"Oh yeah?" The thought's making his cock strain in his trousers. Steven senses his frustration, rubs a hand over the head of his dick and gently squeezes.

"Yeah. And maybe you should bite my lip for me." Steven's eyes are coy, but there's no false question there. He's not suggesting it. He's demanding it.

Brendan dips his head forward, taking the boy's lip between his teeth and tugging at it. Steven hisses, but it's not in protest. His hold over Brendan's dick strengths, and his face becomes slack with pleasure.

Brendan tastes blood in his mouth, sees the droplet of red on Steven's lips.

"Sorry," he says, transferring it to his finger.

He's not truly sorry though, not when this is exactly what the boy had wanted. He grins at Brendan, looking satisfied and like this is just the start.

Steven's hand comes out of the waistband of Brendan's boxers, and he begins to undo his jeans with strong, confident fingers.

Brendan's not used to being the one who's naked first, the man in front of him still fully dressed. He doesn't feel any urgency to cover up though, especially not when Steven's gaze on him is heated. He feels desired.

He takes off his shirt, gives the boy something to really look at.

"Get on me." It's meant to come out as a command, but his voice is already frayed at the edges.

Only Steven's capable of making him feel this free.

Steven shuffles out of his pajama bottoms. Brendan would prefer for his stomach and chest to be exposed too, likes to watch the way it heaves and contracts and relaxes when he's riding him, but the whole point of this is that they're quick, that they avoid being caught by Douglas.

They're not quick enough.

When Steven tells him to get under the covers he does so immediately, knowing what it means. He listens to the sound of the door opening, hears the familiar movement of Douglas's footsteps on the floor.

Suddenly the sound stops.

"Are you alright?"

Brendan tries not to breathe.

"Yeah, of course I am." Steven laughs uneasily. Brendan can't help but smile at the idea of his flushed cheeks and panting breaths.

"You just look a bit..."

"I'm fine, Doug."

"Okay, okay!" Brendan can imagine him holding up his hands in defense. "I'm going to get an early night, I'm exhausted. Speak to you tomorrow."

Brendan waits underneath the sheet, listening to the rustling sound of what he assumes must be Douglas changing into his pajamas. It's ten or so minutes until the light is dimmed, and Steven's face appears next to his, both of them covered.

"You have to get out of here." He's whispering so quietly that he can barely hear him.

Brendan's already made his decision.

"Think I'll hang around, actually."

Steven looks at him in horror. "What?"

"You've made my dick hard, Steven - are you honestly going to leave me with no relief?" He makes a wounded expression.

"Go back to your cell and wank yourself off then!" The boy's being stubborn, feisty. Exactly how Brendan most likes him.

If this is a plan to make him go away then it's backfired. Badly.

He's determined not to leave this room without fucking the boy, and from the way Steven's staring at him, he's pretty sure that hidden underneath his anger is that determination too.


	22. Chapter 22

He wants him.

But he's not allowed to have him here. It's out of the question. He can't let it happen, not with Doug lying inches away from them both. He's learnt by now that the American's not a deep sleeper, and as much as it embarrasses him to admit it sometimes, he's not quiet when it comes to sex.

Not quiet at all, if what the comments that Brendan's made are anything to go by.

Ste fidgets under the covers. It's dark in here, and hot, and his face is so close to Brendan's that it wouldn't take much for him to lean over and kiss him.

That's if he was willing to break his own rules. Which he's not.

But fucking hell, is it tempting.

"Come on. I've been waiting all day for this." Brendan's grinning at him wolfishly.

He's loving every second of this, seems to enjoy getting Ste into trouble of the more sexual variety.

"You better put that thing away." Ste nods down at Brendan's cock.

That was a mistake. Looking at it has only drawn his attention to the size of it, the proportions, and how much Ste wants it inside him right now.

Brendan sees him looking, and his smile only widens.

"I mean it!" Ste hits him on the arm, then worries that the sound will alert Doug.

He peeks out from underneath the cover, and squints in the darkness. Someone must be on his side, because Doug's lying facing the wall, his back to them. And from the way he's breathing, Ste's pretty sure that he's already begun to fall asleep.

He returns to Brendan.

"We've got an hour left until the cell's locked. You've got to go." He finds it difficult to keep the regret from his tone. Brendan's not the only one who wanted it to be just the two of them.

"You're far too dressed for my liking, Steven."

"Aren't I always?"

"Point," Brendan concedes. "But particularly now."

Ste doesn't feel overdressed. His hands are covering his bare lap, and he tries uselessly to drag his t-shirt down lower to cover his cock and balls. It's not that he's shy like this, not now, not when he and Brendan are this familiar with each other. But he doesn't want him to get any ideas.

He suspects it's already too late for that.

"We can be quiet." Brendan's eyes are half mast as he stares down at Ste, making him feel increasingly on display. "Well, I can be quiet."

That earns him another shove, and Ste has to clamp a hand over Brendan's mouth as he laughs.

"Maybe we should just tell Doug that you're here."

Brendan's expression becomes serious. "With the way he hates me? I don't fancy another fight with the Yank."

"I bet you two could be best friends if you just sat down and talked," Ste teases, but he feels glad that this isn't going to become a reality anytime soon. The idea of Brendan being best friends with any man makes him feel uncomfortable.

"I have a better idea."

Ste's sure that he isn't going to like what this idea consists of, but he rises to the bait.

"What?"

Brendan leans in close, his hand braced on Ste's knee.

"Take off your clothes."

Ste's shaking his head in mirth. "You're..." He's not sure he has the words for exactly what Brendan is.

But he finds himself lifting his t-shirt off over his head, isn't sure if he even has control over his own hands. He'd meant to put a stop to this when Doug had come in, but it's hard to remember about being rational when Brendan's gaze on him is as magnetic as it is.

When Ste reveals his bare torso he sees Brendan suck in a breath, and it's the reward he needed. It's enough to know that he can have this effect on a man who looks like he was carved by Gods.

He feels like they're a couple of kids who have built a fort under the covers, albeit far more naked than he ever was with boys when he was that age. Ste wonders whether Brendan ever got to do that when he was younger, or if everything was marred by what Seamus did to him. Perhaps he never got to be a child at all.

"Happy now?"

"No." Brendan says, mouth sulky. If Ste didn't know any better he'd suspect him of trying to do an imitation of him.

"Why not?" He asks with a sigh, feeling like he already knows the answer.

"Because now I've got you naked, and you're still not touching me. I'm in an even worse position than before."

Ste at least admires him for managing to say all of this with a straight face, looking like Ste's scarred him in some way. Scarred him by not being close enough.

"I am touching you!" He argues, pointing to their legs, which are faintly pressing against each other.

Brendan rolls his eyes to the ceiling. "That doesn't count."

Ste crosses his arms, hiding his nipples. He's playing dirty, covering more of his body from Brendan. His favourite parts.

"I told you, I'm not going to -"

Brendan holds up his hand, making a talking gesture with it. "Too much of this, Steven."

Ste has the strong desire to push him off the bed.

Before he can stop himself, he settles for an aggressive kiss instead, shocking the older man into making a disgruntled sound. It doesn't take long for Brendan's hands to settle in his hair though, and to pull Ste closer towards him eagerly.

It was a mistake to kiss him. The taste and warmth and sensation is addictive, and instead of moving away from Brendan, Ste merely lowers them both down onto the pillow, making sure that the cover's still spread over their colliding bodies.

They stay like this until he manages to pull away.

"You're extremely persuasive."

"So I've been told," Brendan says in satisfaction.

"If I agree to this, then..."

"Wait a second." Brendan props himself up by the elbows, staring at him in wonderment. "If? So you're contemplating it?"

Ste chews on his lip, still unsure. He's almost certain that Doug's asleep now, the way he's always able to be about ten seconds after his head hits the pillow. They're running out of time before Brendan has to return to his cell and the door's locked, and a whole night spent without him isn't something that Ste wants to think about.

"Like I was saying, if I agree to this...we both have to find some way of not waking Doug."

Brendan stares around for a moment, looking like he's pondering something. Then he reaches a hand down, out from underneath the cover, and picks up something on the floor.

Ste stares at him curiously, and is none the wiser when he produces a napkin which he'd taken from cookery class earlier.

"I haven't got something on my face, have I?"

Brendan chuckles under his breath. "I was thinking, seeing as how you don't want to make any noise..."

Ste's eyes widen. "This is for me?" He doesn't know whether Brendan deserves a smack over the head for suggesting it.

"You've never used one before?"

"No!" He says, flaring up. He can admit to liking the way Brendan controls him in bed, but he thinks a gag might be a step too far.

The calmness of Brendan's suggestion makes Ste suspicious.

"Have you used one before?"

"Not on myself, no." He sounds insulted by the idea.

"On who then?" Ste barks out, mentally scrolling through the names of the men that he know Brendan's been with. He wonders if it was Vincent, or Walker. Or both. Or someone who Ste's yet to hear of, because Brendan knows how to get around.

But he suspects it's the kind of thing that one man he knows would do. A man who seems to like everything that could possibly be surprised as kinky.

"It was Simon, wasn't it?"

Brendan's silence is the confirmation that Ste needs.

"Let me guess, you two did roleplay and were cops and robbers? Handcuffs and everything?" He asks, feels like acid's contorting his voice.

Brendan fidgets below him.

"Brendan!"

"I never said anything!"

"You never had to." Ste wonders if Brendan expects him to compete with that, if he wants him to dress up in a policeman's outfit. He inwardly curses himself when he begins to think of ways of asking Ethan if he still has his old uniform. He's an idiot for considering it.

"We didn't do the roleplay, okay?"

"Just the handcuffs?"

Ste presumes that it must have been Walker who was in them. He can't imagine Brendan willingly submitting like that. He's wondering where on earth they even managed to get a pair of handcuffs and a key from in the first place. They may be in a prison, but it's hard to imagine one of the guards leaving one idly behind on a table.

"Steven, I really don't want to be talking about me and Walker right now. Or ever, for that matter. I only suggested this because you wanted to stay quiet, and we both know you're never able to do that..." Brendan looks like he's trying to hold back a laugh.

Ste stares at the napkin, wondering whether to give in or not. He'd always hated being blindfolded at parties when he was younger, especially when the other children had laughed at him for walking into furniture.

But this is different. He'll still be able to see, and that comforts him somewhat.

He slowly nods, and holds out a hand for the napkin. He feels faintly ridiculous when he ties it around his mouth, Brendan's eyes on him the entire time.

It's not as bad as he thought it would be though. The material's soft, so he's not getting the scratchy sensation that he was fearing. He doesn't tie it too tightly, just enough so that if he tries to talk it's muffled, inaudible.

He can't help a thrill going through him when he sees Brendan looking at him with dark eyes. He looks like he's soaking this in, capturing it to memory. Ste can't see why, thinks he must look highly amusing, but in the Irishman's eyes he could be something entirely different. Something special.

Ste quickly slides the napkin down his chin, and Brendan looks frustrated, as though he thinks Ste's going back on their agreement.

"Imagine if Doug sees us though." He hasn't managed to get the worry out of his mind yet.

"Maybe he'll learn a thing or two."

"I hope he doesn't do to Lynsey what we do," Ste says, nose crinkling. "He'd probably end up hurting her." He can't help but be slightly smug at the thought of everything that Brendan does to him, how they seem powerful when they're together.

"Can we stop talking about this, please?"

"Why?"

"Sex between a man and a woman kind of creeps me out."

Ste laughs at him disbelievingly, leaning forward and touching his finger over the tip of Brendan's nose, like he sometimes does with Lucas. "Aww, brings back bad memories does it?"

"Something like that." Brendan looks like he's trying to hold back a shudder.

It's amazing to see Brendan like this. It feels like he's accepting a part of himself, the part that isn't so conventional. He's not being the ex husband or the father, or the intimidator. Ste almost dares to believe that he's come to the conclusion that it's okay to be who he is. Gay, and in a gay relationship.

He places the napkin back around his mouth and secures it, feeling more confident this time. It's hard to feel anxious when Brendan seems to have this much belief in him.

Brendan moves until he's got out from underneath him, and Ste's on his back on the mattress. It's difficult to not be able to kiss him, and he keeps on trying to follow his instincts, getting his face closer to Brendan's, so incredibly used to sliding their tongues together by now that it feels unnatural not to.

Brendan tries to make it up to him in other ways. He kisses him in other areas, his lips fluttering over Ste's collar bone and shoulders, warming him up. Ste's sure that if Doug awoke now and looked over at the bed, he'd see two bodies moving frantically under the covers, the intensity of it making it appear as though they're wrestling.

He hopes that Doug's busy dreaming of his release, and is kept asleep by thoughts of Lynsey. He's not in the mood to be interrupted from this, not now that he's agreed to it and he can feel Brendan's cock rubbing against him vividly, making the hair's on Ste's neck and arms stand up.

"Put your legs on my shoulders." Even though Brendan's whispering Ste can still hear the lust thickening his voice, making his accent even more pronounced. He doesn't think he's ever heard something so sexy.

Ste complies, startling himself with how flexible he can be. This is a world away from the drunken fucks he used to have in clubs. It's intimate to be exposing himself like this. It's a reminder of how much he trusts Brendan, how when he settles his legs around him, hooking his ankles behind his back, he feels safe. Like the man before him isn't going to judge him or hurt him.

Brendan strokes his hands down the hair on Ste's thighs, and surveys the boy before him, a smile on his lips. He positions Ste so that he can dip his head down, and is able to have access to his entrance.

Ste feels anticipation in his bones for what's about to come. He hopes that he secured the napkin adequately enough, because he can already feel a shout wanting to escape from his lips. He's holding back a groan, wishing he could tell Brendan to tongue him, to grasp his arse cheeks firmly and explore him.

It's tempting to forgo this entirely and ask Brendan to fuck him now, but he knows that he'll regret it if he does, can already imagine the pain that could occur from Brendan driving into him when he's this tight.

It's not the first time that Brendan seems to read his mind. Or perhaps he doesn't, perhaps he wants this as fiercely as Ste does, and he can't withstand the wait.

He maneuverers Ste so that he feels like he's about to do a backwards roll, but stops his legs from going over his head, holding him in position with his strong hands. Ste can tell from his current expression and his actions in the past that he has a penchant for rimming. Every time that he focuses on Ste's hole his eyes glaze over, and his pupils enlarge, salvia gleaming behind his lips.

He looks animalistic. It would be intimidating if Ste doesn't want him so much.

"I wonder if you can be quiet with this," he says curiously, pressing a finger against Ste's hole.

Ste nods his head, determined to rise to the challenge.

"I'm not so sure." He presses harder, his finger smooth and ticklish against the muscle. "You've never been able to be before."

Ste feels vaguely insulted, although he can't completely deny Brendan's words.

"Only one way to find out..."

Brendan lowers his head, and Ste regards him under his lashes, watching as he tongue peeks out from his lips and dips into the crevice of Ste's hole.

He doesn't even attempt to be gentle or teasing.

Ste's not sure whether it's because they've got limited time here, or whether Brendan just wants him this much.

It's addictive to watch him while he's doing this. He feels like he's got the best view in the world, and he stares down at Brendan while he eats him out, the sight of his head moving back and forth more arousing than he could have believed possible. It's a relatively simple action, but it makes Ste get harder, makes him reach for his cock and begin to stroke it in time with Brendan's licks inside his hole.

When Brendan breaks off momentarily and stares up at him, his skin is flushed and his lips look redder somehow, rubbed raw.

He looks impossibly sexy, and if Ste could speak right now then he'd tell him so.

"Looks like you've already fallen at the first hurdle."

Shit. He'd barely been aware of the groans that were escaping from his mouth. Brendan has the ability to do this to him, make him feel impossibly weak and impossibly strong at the same time. Like he has no control over his own body, but he still feels powerful because of the effect he has on this man, this man who he loves.

Brendan kisses him on his forehead and resumes his position, leaning against the mattress on his knees. Ste's legs are beginning to ache the smallest amount from where he's situated, but the benefits are worth it. More than worth it.

Brendan's actions are relentless, and he barely pauses for breath while he licks Ste. His thighs are being held in a vice iron grip, and Ste feels faintly embarrassed at how much he's sweating, not knowing whether it's from being under the covers like this, or because of what Brendan's doing to him.

His hold on his cock is becoming slack, his movements uncoordinated. The napkin feels like it's becoming obscenely drenched in the moisture from his mouth. It's difficult to thrust closer towards Brendan's lips from where he's lying, but he gives it his best shot, not an inch of space between where they're joined now.

Brendan draws back, admiring his own handiwork, head tilted to the side. He spreads Ste's arse cheeks apart, and Ste feels a rising blush spreading across him. He's never had anyone look at him quite like this before.

"I think that should do it," Brendan murmurs, more to himself than to Ste.

"What does it look like?" Ste can't help but ask, but it comes out as a mumble against the gag, Brendan laughing at the inaudibility of his words.

He watches as Brendan reaches for a condom from beside him. Ste's grateful that all of them ended up underneath the covers with him. It would have taken some explaining if Doug had discovered a pile of Durex wrappers surrounding Ste's bed.

Brendan tears the wrapper off with his teeth. Ste wants to ask if that's safe, if he risks ripping the condom too, but he sees that it's intact. Call it Brendan's party trick.

He offers it to Ste to slide it over his dick, but he gets distracted. Instead of sheathing Brendan up straight away he concentrates on stroking his hand down him. There's no real need to, he's incredibly hard already, but this is Ste's favourite part of Brendan's anatomy, and he thinks it deserves a reward of sorts.

When he's had his fill of body worship, he puts the condom over Brendan's dick, and settles back onto the pillow once more. It's an invitation for Brendan to begin that first initial push into him.

Brendan puts his hands on either side of the pillow, and rubs his cock against Ste's entrance. He seems to be doing it to deliberately tempt him rather than to prepare him. Ste's frustration rises. He can't call out, can't tell Brendan to stop with the games, that he wants to get fucked.

Brendan seems to get some satisfaction from his face, sees the desperation there, and very slowly inserts his dick inside him.

Ste's scared that even with a gag Doug won't be able to sleep through this.

Brendan begins gradually, with the smallest of thrusts, deliciously building up the tension inside them both. Ste's bent in half so acutely that Brendan could put his toes to his lips if he was that way inclined.

He closes his eyes when it becomes too much, when the head of Brendan's cock rubs inside him repeatedly, and he feels like his body's about to break.

Brendan doesn't want him to miss any of this though.

"Open your eyes."

When Ste does, he stares back into a sea of blue. Unable to communicate to the full extent that he would like, he pulls Brendan closer towards him, clawing at his back, and he kisses his eyelashes, a gesture that is usually reserved for Brendan to do to him.

"What was that for?" Brendan asks, eyebrows raised.

Ste motions for him to take the napkin away from him, feels that he needs to say this, and Brendan needs to hear it.

Brendan relents, and there's confusion on his face when he stares at Ste.

It disappears with his words.

"I love you."

That's what that kiss was for. Nothing deeper than the simple fact that he loves him. Now that he's said it once he can't seem to stop it from spilling from his mouth. It feels like the truest thing he's ever spoken.

Brendan stops in his movements inside Ste's arse. He blinks, and his face is unreadable. Ste worries for a second that he's gone too far, that just because Brendan accepted the declaration once, it doesn't meant that he will again.

But after a moment Brendan places a hand on Ste's face, smoothing a thumb against his cheek.

He looks uncertain, but he's still here, and that's what matters to Ste. As hurtful as it is that Brendan hasn't yet returned his words, he's not expecting them. He has enough intuition to know that he isn't the kind of man who's comfortable with saying I love you. Ste wonders if he's ever said those words to another man in his entire life.

He wonders if he'll be the first, if it ever happens one day.

"Steven, I..."

Ste feels a chill run through him, but he's not scared. He wonders if this is it, if it's truly going to happen.

Brendan swallows, his Adam's apple looking tight and strained.

"You know I care about you. You know that you're the only person that I've ever..."

When Brendan's unable to finish Ste feels disappointment in his gut, but he breathes through it. He refuses to get angry at Brendan about this. He doesn't owe him those words, and Ste needs him too much to let go because he's not hearing them.

He silences Brendan with a kiss, the brush of stubble against his upper lip, and then eases the napkin over his mouth once more. He wonders whether he should discard it completely, but when Brendan begins to move inside him again he's grateful that he has something to muffle the noises he's making.

Brendan's lips are attached to his neck, and he's sucking against the skin there while he thrusts. It feels like he's going to draw blood there, but Ste doesn't care. He likes it.

Ste feels like there's only one thing reverberating in his head, _I'm going to come_, and he focuses everything on holding out, on waiting till Brendan's right there with him. He can sense when he's close by the way that the older man's hips are moving erratically. He smiles against the gag when he thinks that it's a shame there weren't two napkins, because Brendan's grunts and swears are almost as bad as his own usually are.

When Ste reaches for his cock Brendan slaps his hand away, and instead clasps it in his palm. It makes him feel hot all over, the roughness and the desire there. Being shown who leads things here, who dominates.

When they both come Brendan takes off the gag, and kisses him. It feels like they're both screaming into each others mouths, any attempt to be completely silent abandoned. They should have known it was a futile battle, one they'd never win.

It's only when Brendan's collapsed on top of him, a hot sticky mess panting on his shoulder, that they hear the sound of a throat clearing.

The source of the noise sounds incredibly pissed off, and it causes Brendan to snicker into Ste's skin like a scolded child who's been caught stealing sweets.

Ste winces internally. This is the second time that they've been caught. He's grateful that it's not Walker again, otherwise the cover would have been pulled off from on top of them, their naked forms revealed.

But the person who's standing before them is going to have judgement in their eyes. Ste knows it without even having to look.

"I can see you, you know." Doug's voice is loud, unmistakably angry.

His words are technically untrue. Ste looks down and sees that neither of their bodies are on display, with not even a single leg or foot poking through the covers.

But he thinks he understands what the American means. It doesn't take a genius to work out what they're doing.

"Stay here," Ste says to Brendan, not entirely sure why he's still whispering when their cover's been blown.

He reveals just his head from underneath the sheet. He hadn't even noticed that Doug had put on the light, and he can see every frown and line of frustration on his friend's face.

"Sorry." It's all he can think of to say.

"I'm trying to get some sleep over here, and then I hear you two..." Doug lets out a shudder. "I could understand if you were keeping the noise down, but you didn't even try."

Ste can't help but feel irritated by this. He was trying pretty damn hard, actually. The wetted napkin lying on the sheet is testament to that.

"We don't share a cell together anymore see, and well..." He trails off, realising how incredibly pathetic this sounds. He's reluctant to spell it out for Doug, to explain that he feels unable to go more than a day without fucking Brendan now.

"What if I had seen something? What if I had seen a..." Doug lowers his voice then. "_A penis_." He says it like it's black magic, witchcraft.

Ste can hear Brendan laughing from underneath the covers, and jabs him with his foot. It's not enough to stop him though, and before he can do anything Brendan's face is next to his, just about managing to shield his chest.

Ste moves to cover it even more. He doesn't want anyone else to see Brendan's body, knows that it's strange and possessive, but he can't understand how anyone could not fall in love with him if they saw it.

Doug looks decidedly unimpressed though.

"You might find you enjoy it, Dougie," Brendan says with a smirk.

"You just make sure that you keep your...thing away from me." Doug turns to the side, making sure that he doesn't have the full view.

"Steven doesn't seem to mind it..."

"Brendan!" Ste tries to do his best intimidating glare at Brendan, but he's sure that it comes out looking as scary as a kitten.

"Whatever," Doug says dismissively, closing his eyes now. "Just please leave. I don't need to be hearing that again. Ever."

Brendan snorts, and Ste watches as he removes the condom, ties it up and throws it towards the bin. He's relieved when it lands there. He doesn't particularly want Doug staring over at it, further evidence of what they've just done.

"Turn around, Douglas."

"No you know what, I'll give you two some privacy. I'll be back in five minutes." Doug runs out of the cell in his pajamas as fast as his legs will carry him.

Once he's gone Ste turns to Brendan, eyes blazing.

"Did you have to do that?"

"What?" Brendan says, faking innocence.

"Telling him that I like your...cock," Ste says, in a hushed whisper.

Brendan frowns. "Did you want me to lie to the kid? Are you advocating lying, Steven?"

Ste shakes his head angrily. Brendan's a master at this, at somehow making him feel like he's the one being unreasonable.

"Lets just get dressed before he comes back."

Ste gets out of the bed, untangling himself from Brendan. His movement causes the untouched condom wrappers to fall to the floor, and he's aware of how seedy this looks.

He's also aware that he'd very much like to use all of them. Now.

"Thank God we managed to finish before he interrupted," Brendan says, eyes dancing.

Ste can't argue with that. He would have had to stop himself from kicking Doug out of the room if that had happened.

Instead he feels sated, the ache in his muscles satisfying. He massages his shoulders, watching as Brendan's feet pad along the floor while he reaches for his trousers. Ste's disappointed to note that his cock's not as hard anymore, then curses himself for having that on his mind all the time.

It's taking a while to get used to, this feeling of never being able to have enough of someone.

"I thought you wanted us to get dressed?" Brendan questions, Ste still completely naked.

Ste mumbles,_ oh yeah, I do,_ then begins to reach for his pajamas, feeling dazed. When Brendan's dressed he picks up the condoms from the floor, hastily stuffing them into his pocket. He doesn't need to vocalise that they'll be using them all soon. They both know.

Brendan pulls Ste towards him by the material of his t-shirt, capturing him in a kiss before he can refuse.

He finds he doesn't want to. Brendan's lips are soft, and it makes Ste feel hot all over to think where they've been tonight. Where they've been on _him_.

"Sweet dreams, Steven," he murmurs, close to his mouth.

Ste laughs. Brendan's words surprise him. They sound like something a boyfriend would say, but he doesn't tell him this. He wouldn't dare risk it. He's still working out exactly what this thing between them is.

"You too," Ste returns, fondness peppering his voice, and his hands begin to snake towards Brendan's back. Brendan doesn't try to pull him away, doesn't try to stop him, and it encourages him to move closer to the older man's body. He envelopes him into a hug, and closes his eyes.

He's not used to hugging men like this. It's not something that he makes a habit of, isn't something he grew up doing. Terry preferred beating him to hugging him, and Ste never would have tried to begin with, would have made him feel ill to even contemplate being that close to someone so destructive and hateful.

But with Brendan it feels comforting. It surprises him how long they stand there, unmoving. He can feel the Irishman's fingers gently stroking his hair, and he wonders if Brendan's drawing strength from this as much as he is.

When they draw apart Ste wants to ask him to stay. He's not ready to say goodbye yet, even if it's only for the night. He's beginning to realise the full implications of what he's doing here with this man, how he's dangerously in love with him. He's never felt like this before, never craved someone like he physically needs them.

If Brendan ended things between them now then Ste thinks he'd fall apart. It would be different to the first time when Brendan moved out and left him. This knowledge is crippling, because he still fears the separation.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

Brendan nods, humming in his throat. "Don't let Douglas give you any grief, will you? Tell him to grow a set of balls."

Ste rolls his eyes, showing Brendan to the door. He's still reluctant to be without him again though, and can't resist a parting kiss before he shuts it behind him.

He's sure that Doug's hiding away in a corner somewhere watching, because he comes back the moment that Brendan's gone. He scans the room like he's looking for a stray sock or pair of boxers, then lets out a small sigh when the coast is clear.

"I really am sorry about that," Ste says, full of discomfort. Doug and Brendan's argument in the canteen is still fresh in his mind, and he's aware that the dislike between them is more intense than ever. "It's just that we don't share a room anymore, and it's kind of hard to find some time alone," he explains, feeling like he's digging himself a deeper hole.

Doug's anger seems to dissipate though. "It's alright, I understand. I'm not saying I want to be woken by Brendan saying _fuck, Steven_ every night, but me and Lynsey don't exactly find it easy to have some private time either."

Ste tries to ignore Doug's impression of Brendan, and climbs into bed, the sheets still warm. He feels something tickling his leg, and pulls out the napkin from underneath, smiling at it before placing it in the drawer.

"I know you hate him." He sees no point in avoiding the elephant in the room. "And I do understand why. I hated him for a while. Or at least I tried to."

"You don't have to worry." Doug settles into his own bed. "I'm not going to try and cause any trouble. All I'm focusing on now is my release date, and moving in with Lynsey."

The mention of this only serves as a reminder of Ste's own upcoming release. It stirs something within him, forms a knot in his stomach. It's not normal to not want to be free from prison. He should be counting down the days.

He thinks that there's a spark of understanding in Doug's face, because he doesn't mention it again.

When he switches off the light once more, Ste tries to fall asleep and remove the images of Brendan on top of him from his mind, otherwise he thinks he'll be awake the whole night.

A voice interrupts his vain attempts.

"Just please make sure that I never see Brendan's penis."

Ste smiles, turning to face the wall. "I can promise you that."

* * *

Brendan manages to get back to his cell ten minutes before it's locked.

Ethan's sitting in bed, watching television when he enters the room. He barely looks up when he sees Brendan. They've reached an understanding, have learnt how to live with each other. As annoying as Ethan finds it to be woken by the booming sound of Johnny Cash and the thud of press ups, they don't often have disagreements.

Brendan finds he's constantly grateful for the fact that he didn't have to move in with Walker or Douglas. He's been relatively lucky in comparison.

Brendan moves the condoms from his pocket into the draw. He's sure that Walker will notice the dent in his supply, but it's the least of his worries. The man deserves it for what he did, deserves a whole lot worse, but he's not going to be the one to seek revenge.

Those days are behind him. He'll only hit out if someone hurts Steven now.

When he sits down on his bed, Ethan at last looks up.

"Your flies open, Brady."

Brendan stares down at where he's looking, and quickly does his zip up. It hadn't been high on his list of priorities. He'd been too busy enjoying Steven's arms around him, and the taste of his lips.

He regards Ethan, questions infiltrating his mind.

"I suppose you think the same as Dougie boy, don't you? That I should leave Steven alone."

He doesn't truly care what anyone thinks, but he's curious nonetheless. He's never been sure exactly what Ethan thinks of him, especially being an ex copper.

The man's answer is almost immediate.

"No. I like Doug, but he can be...sensitive. Too much sometimes. Ste seems like a nice lad, but it's none of my business what you two get up to."

Brendan feels a strange amount of respect springing up in him for Ethan. It's refreshing to have someone in his life who isn't trying to paint him as the villain, and Steven as his unwilling victim.

"Thank you." It's rare that he thanks anyone, but he reckons this man deserves it, for not jumping to conclusions and assuming the worst.

"No, thank you."

Brendan stares at him in confusion, unable to understand the meaning behind Ethan's words.

"For what you did to Warren," Ethan explains, looking down at the floor, suddenly uncharacteristically shy.

Brendan's body becomes stiff, rigid.

"I didn't do anything to Foxy." If he doesn't admit his guilt then he can't be charged for anything. At least in theory, although he's well aware that that hasn't helped him so far, that it's landed him where he is today.

Ethan surprises him by not accusing him further. They both know that Brendan's responsible. There's been rivalry in the past between Walker and Warren, but they're largely indifferent to each other. Warren and Brendan have always hated each other.

"I thought..." Ethan's quiet when he speaks again. "I thought that it would never stop. What he was doing to me. I thought I'd spent the rest of my life being raped.'

Brendan closes his eyes, but then remembers that he's not allowed to get lost like this. If he shows his weakness then Ethan could find out, and he can't allow anyone but Steven to know.

"You saved me."

Brendan opens his mouth to argue against this, but Ethan interrupts.

"You gave me my life back. I'm free. As free as I can be in this place." The man sounds both joyous and tearful, doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. "And that's all thanks to you."

Brendan thinks about denying it again, but doesn't want to insult Ethan's intelligence. He can tell that the man doesn't wish him any harm, and genuinely just wants to thank him. He never thought that he'd receive praise for putting someone in a coma.

He doesn't reply, can't risk admitting to his guilt, but his silence seems to satisfy Ethan, and when they switch off the light and go to sleep, Brendan feels like they've shared something. They've both been degraded and damaged by someone, but they've made it through. They've survived.

When Brendan wakes up the next morning he finds an officer in the cell, staring at Ethan in concern. He thinks he knows what's happened, and dread spikes through him.

When Ethan pukes his guts out in the bucket and starts to cry silently, he's sure of it.

Warren's woken up.


	23. Chapter 23

Any tiredness that Brendan had felt evaporates in a instant, and he rises out of bed, slinging his jacket over his arms and making his way over towards Ethan.

He watches as the man continues to heave his guts out. The officer that's delivered the news is staring away from the bucket, clearly unsympathetic, and Brendan feels anger rising in him at this place, that the people here don't even have the decency to show a touch of humanity when it matters the most.

"I'll take care of this," he nods to the officer, and the man stares at him coldly, questioning his authority.

Brendan knows he has more than anyone in this goddamn place, that people respect and fear him more than the staff, and after a moment the officer seems to understand this too, and reluctantly makes his way out of the cell.

Brendan crouches down besides Ethan, murmuring into his ear "it's okay, it's okay" while he continues to be sick. The man breaks off, staring back at him in shock. Never once has Brendan reached out to him like this, but he remembers what it's like, finding out that someone from your past is coming back, the person who shaped your entire future, and there's nowhere to run.

It takes Ethan a few more minutes before he's finished, and he lies sprawled next to the bucket, a light sheen of sweat on his forehead. He looks as pale as anyone that Brendan's ever seen, and it's a stark reminder of what his own face must have been like when Seamus had returned.

It's like looking into a mirror.

"I thought it was over." It sounds like a distant murmur, like the man's still dazed.

Brendan looks across at him from where he's leaning against the wall. He doesn't know what to say, what could possibly be fitting words in a situation like this.

He wonders what he wished that someone had said to him.

He remembers wanting comfort, wanting someone to tell him that everything would be okay. But at the same time he didn't want to be patronised, lied to.

"What exactly were you told?"

"That he woke up in the middle of the night." Ethan looks at the floor, looks like he's not truly seeing anything at all, like he's already floated away from his body. "I thought he wouldn't...I thought maybe you'd done enough damage to kill him."

Brendan says nothing, doesn't want to slip up here and admit to his part in Warren's hospitalisation. He can never be too sure of who's listening, even with the door closed. He feels like he's being constantly inspected, that there are cameras everywhere, and people waiting for him to admit his guilt in everything he's ever done.

"It's going to start all over again, isn't it?" Ethan's increasingly panicking now, looking like he's close to ridding more of the contents of his stomach into the bucket. "He's going to come back, and he's going to hurt me again."

"Shhhh," Brendan interrupts. He needs time to think. He can't let these ideas form in the man's mind, can't let him think that this is his death sentence now.

There's always a way out.

"Just because Foxy's woken up, it doesn't mean that he's coming back straight away."

Ethan stares at him as if he's speaking another language. He looks angry, and Brendan gives him a free pass this time. He reckons he has every right to be murderous, even if it's being directed at him.

"He's going to come back one day though, Brendan."

Brendan had prepared for this, hadn't hit Warren with the intention to kill, although he can't say he would have minded if that had been the resolution. Warren is a parasite, a drip of poison, and the world would be better off without him.

"He'll need time to recover though, won't he?" God knows he's never been one to search for silver linings, but he's trying desperately to now. "You don't just recover after a day from a coma," he continues, manic laughter springing from his lips.

He's not entirely sure what _does_ happens after a coma, doesn't know if any of Warren's memories about who attacked him will come back to him, if Brendan fucked up and wasn't careful enough in disguising himself.

He can see that his words have an effect on Ethan, however minuscule. He's staring at Brendan as though he could have all the answers, like he's relying on him to calm him down.

Brendan's trying to convince them both here, because if Warren's coming back to prison today then he's never been more unprepared in his life. He's already frantically running through the safety measures he needs to put in place, and one face keeps on appearing before him. One boy.

"So you think he won't be back for a while?" There's a trace of hope in Ethan's voice now.

Brendan closes his eyes, tries to summon the strength to be the strong one, to forget about his own fears like he's always done.

He moves away from the wall, and puts a hand on Ethan's shoulder, trying to reassure him further. The man flinches the smallest amount, and the action isn't lost on him. Brendan withdraws the touch immediately, wondering how he could be so completely careless. Of course the man won't want to be touched. The rape's still raw in his mind.

"I'll fix this," he says, as though there's anything he can do, as though he has the power to control everything and bend life to his will.

But Ethan's looking at him like he believes he can, and perhaps that's enough.

Brendan quickly gets dressed, putting his jeans hurriedly over the top of his boxers. When he moves towards the door, Ethan rises from the floor, and his eyes look frightened, lost.

"Where are you going?"

"To find Steven."

"I'll come with you. I want to speak to Doug."

When Brendan hesitates Ethan looks into his eyes imploringly. "Please. I don't want to be alone right now."

Brendan nods, and they close the door of the cell behind them as they make their way down the corridor.

Brendan knows that the news has spread, can tell the minute he walks from the room. The atmosphere is uneasy, tense. He can see prisoners talking in whispers to each other, their expressions strained, their faces clouded over with worry.

The freedom which momentarily settled during Warren's absence is gone, and it does nothing to ease Ethan's own frightened mind. He seems to shrink besides Brendan as they make their way down to Steven and Douglas, reduced to the almost childlike figure that he used to be.

It produces a sickness in Brendan, makes him crave Steven, his words and his body, and the calm that he can offer him. It's the first time that he feels relieved that the boy knows about Seamus. He doesn't have to lie or hide the source of his discomfort, and his footsteps are quick as he anticipates seeing him again.

The door of their cell is already open, and they're both sitting on their beds, in the middle of what looks like a heated conversation when Brendan and Ethan reach them.

"You've heard?" Brendan asks, but there's no real need for the question, because he knows from their faces that they already know the details.

Brendan wishes that he could smooth over the lines from Steven's face, to make him look like he did yesterday, when happiness seemed to radiate off him in waves.

The boy nods, and he moves off the bed into Brendan's arms. Brendan's shocked by the action, his arms splayed out before him uselessly. Holding Steven last night was one thing, but they were on their own then. He considers shrugging him off for appearances sake, but Douglas and Ethan aren't even concentrating on them, are standing beside each other now and talking frantically.

Brendan's arms slowly move to wrap around Steven. He's tempted to close his eyes but he refrains. He doesn't want to romanticise this further, although it's increasingly becoming a battle with himself that he's not winning. Every time that he tells himself that he won't go further with the boy, he breaks his own rules. He distantly remembers the time when this was meant to be something to make his sentence go quicker, a casual fuck.

It's laughable considering what it's become.

He feels the boy's words spoken against his neck.

"What are we going to do?"

Brendan releases Steven from his arms. He needs to make this very clear, to make Steven understand how it's going to be from now on.

"We're not going to do anything. I'm going to deal with this."

Steven looks confused, disgruntled. Brendan can already see the counter argument rising in him, the instinct to fight back.

He's not going to give him the chance.

"You're going to stay out of this. When Fox returns you won't see him, won't talk to him, won't even look at him."

Despite his best efforts Steven manages to get a word in, can never resist being a difficult fucker.

"No, but I need to look after you -"

Brendan laughs. Steven, look after _him? _That's not what this is about. That's his job, his job to make sure that the boy is safe.

"Leave the big boys to play their own games, yeah?"

Steven's anger only increases. "No, don't be like that. Don't you dare be like that with me."

Brendan looks across at Douglas and Ethan again to see if they've noticed the boy's insolent tone. He's grateful when he sees that they're still too immersed in their own conversation, must be pretty damn important for Douglas to miss out on the opportunity to tell him how he's mistreating Steven, to ask him what he's done wrong this time.

"Be like what?" He hisses.

"Pushing me out, thinking that I'm not capable of dealing with this."

"Jesus." He doesn't understand why the boy has to have a retort for _everything_.

In one fluid motion he takes Steven by the arm, and moves them both outside the cell. He wants some privacy for this.

"Brendan, what are you -"

Brendan silences him the best way he knows how. Steven's lips resist initially, and his mouth stays closed, shut. Access denied.

But Brendan coaxes it open, smoothing against Steven's cheeks with his thumbs. The boy's mouth grows more relaxed, and he slips his tongue in alongside Brendan's.

The night spent away from each other had felt long, like it had lasted an age, even in sleep. Brendan intends to make up for it now, and kissing this boy has its own particular rewards. The way Steven moans into his mouth is affirming, and for the first time this morning Brendan feels like Warren's not even a threat. Nothing can touch them when they're together.

Steven's still pouting when they break apart, and Brendan smiles at the sight.

"That wasn't fair. You can't keep on doing things like that just to get me to shut up."

"Really? I didn't hear you complaining when my tongue was in your mouth."

But he knows that Steven has a point. As much as it's an escape, it's only a distraction for so long. They can't hide out forever, and now that Brendan's eyes are open again he takes in his surroundings, the heavy doors and the uniformed officers.

When he's with Steven, it's easy to believe that they're somewhere else entirely.

"I meant what I said. You're not going near Warren. He's my problem to deal with."

Problem is the operative word. Brendan can already tell that he'll be a pain in his arse, a thorn in his side. The sooner he disposes of him for good, the better.

Steven doesn't seem as reassured by this as Brendan would like.

"You're not going to go near him, are you?"

"Of course I am." he says, thinking that it would have been obvious. "He's going to come straight for me."

Steven grips onto the front of Brendan's shirt, his hold tight. "No, but he...he doesn't know you had anything to do with the attack, does he?"

"Foxy's stupid, but he's not that stupid."

Steven looks around the corridor like he's searching for answers.

"I know! Can't we just blame it on Walker?"

Brendan's laughter only increases when he realises that Steven isn't joking.

"Steven Hay, you little bastard." He feels proud.

"It's not like he doesn't deserve it."

"While that's true, Warren's not going to buy it. I think me blaming Walker might make him just a little bit suspicious."

He admires the boy for trying to dig for a solution, but this is his mess to clean up, and it's going to take more than pinning the blame on someone else.

He rests his forehead against Steven's when he sees the concern that's still in his eyes.

"Look on the bright side. Foxy's carrying around a few extra pounds, so he's slower than me."

Steven lets out one of his booming laughs, the kind that Brendan's mentally filed under _donkey noises _in his head.

"How the hell is that looking on the bright side? He could just...I don't know, sit on you."

Brendan frowns. He wasn't expecting that image, nor did he want it.

"The only person who's going to be sitting on me is you, Steven." He says it with a growl to make his message clear, and by the way that the boy's eyes travel down to his lips, he's sure that Steven's thinking about it vividly.

"I wish we could...you know." The boy raises his eyebrows. "Now." Then he shakes his head. "That's really selfish, isn't it? I mean after everything that's happened, and what Ethan's going through..."

"Yeah. Selfish," Brendan says softly, landing a blow on Steven's arse at the same time.

The boy lets out an _ow_, looking over his shoulder as if he can view the imprint already settling on his arse through his clothing. He's wearing a pair of tracksuit bottoms, and it's tempting for Brendan to push him against the wall and stick his hand down them.

Brendan makes do with another kiss instead, teeth scraping over lips, his hand moving roughly through Steven's hair.

"We really shouldn't," Steven whispers, and the sound of him breathing heavily against Brendan's mouth is divine.

"Why not? I'm allowed to do this with my -" Brendan breaks off, mouth snapping shut, staring at Steven uneasily.

Steven's eyes dance, looking like someone's shining a bright light into him. He's almost too beautiful sometimes.

"Your what?" It's tentative, unsure, but with a unmistakable sense of hope lingering.

"Nothing." Brendan shakes his head, trying to dislodge the thought that was roaming there moments before.

He doesn't know when he became so fucking sentimental, but it needs to stop.

It's only then that he realises that Steven backed them against the wall, and Brendan's pressed there, the boy's hands possessively lying flat against his open chest, against the hair that covers him.

He'd been so caught up in kissing him that he hadn't even noticed. Steven's crotch is flush against him, temptingly close, and it would be _so_ easy to reach a hand down and carry out his earlier desire.

It's only when Brendan sees Simon walking down the corridor towards them that he abandons the idea, and gently pushes Steven away. He keeps close to him though, remaining watchful, his eyes flittering between them both.

Walker's smiling as though he's just won a ticket out of this place.

"Good morning gentleman. Lovely day today, isn't it?" He sniffs the air like he's trying to smell for flowers.

Brendan doesn't buy it, never does feel at ease when Walker's this carefree, bright as fucking sunshine. It puts him on edge, makes him feel like a bomb's about to go off.

He doesn't like explosions as much as he used to.

"Does this conversation have a point, or..."

Brendan loves it when Steven's this feisty. Frustratingly, he can tell that Walker loves it too.

"That's no way to speak to me, darling. I only came by to say hello. What are you two up to?"

"I'm just showing Steven the sights," Brendan says, full of false cheer, looking around them as though they're in a palace and not a prison.

"Your sights, from the looks of things."

Brendan sees Steven make a move to confront the man, but he holds him back. Walker's harmless compared to what they have to deal with now.

"What are you so happy about anyway?" Steven asks, his voice aggressive where his fists aren't.

"That's kind of you to ask," Walker says, leaning back absently on the railings, staring at his nails. "Here's my recipe for happiness: number one, a morning fuck."

Steven and Brendan stare at him expectantly, but silence follows.

"What happened to number two? Is that it?" Steven questions petulantly.

"Yes, that's pretty much all of it."

"Well if you don't mind, I'm going to go and have some breakfast. That's if I can still stomach it after hearing about your sex life."

Steven strokes along Brendan's back, giving him a parting glance before he goes down the stairs. It looks like a warning, _keep out of trouble_, and Brendan's never been able to promise that.

He feels like he's already doomed to failure before the boy's crown of golden hair is even out of sight.

"He looks fucked."

Brendan trains his eyes back on Simon again, narrowing under his gaze.

"Excuse me?"

"He looks like he's been fucked," Walker repeats, slowly this time, drawling it.

Brendan moves closer towards him, the man's breath in his face. He has the strong inclination to start pulling on Walker's long hair and use it to drag him over the railings and onto the floor below, but that's not his style. It's too much like a cat fight.

And he reminds himself that he can't afford to lose his temper anymore.

"Don't ever say that about him again."

He tries to move past, but Walker blocks him.

"You should be grateful that I'm being so nice. Do you think Warren's going to be as polite when he comes back?"

"That's not my problem." But they both know it is.

"I think he'll be very interested to see how close you've become to the boy."

"Are you threatening him?" Brendan's hands feel like they're spasming, are dangerously close to making Walker stop talking permanently.

But the sincerity of the man's words shock him, still him.

"No. No, I'm not. I don't want Ste hurt."

Brendan regards him through curious, questioning eyes. He's known Walker for years, but he's like a puzzle that Brendan can never completely unravel. Sometimes he questions whether the man's capable of feeling anything, but if he's faking this care towards Steven then he's the mastermind of this entire place, because Brendan believes him.

A nagging desire gnaws away at him violently. He itches to bury his pride and ask for Walker's help, to make sure that Steven's kept safe. Two bodies looking after him are better than one, and he can hardly rely on Douglas to keep the boy in one piece, not when he looks like he's never had a bicep in his life.

He dares to ask the question that won't leave his mind, that seems content in torturing him.

"Why did you do it?"

Walker asks him to elaborate, but Brendan thinks he already realises exactly what he's asking him. They've been friends long enough to read each others signals.

"Everything with my dad. Why?"

It's humiliating to voice it out loud. He can hardly bare to look at the man, can't stomach the knowledge that Walker knows what was done to him.

He's surprised when Walker has the audacity to look guilty. He's not reveling in this like Brendan would have expected. He thought he'd rub salt into the wound at every opportunity.

"I told you, I never wanted to go that far."

Brendan laughs, the hollowness feeling like it's choking him. "You seemed to be having a pretty good time to me. Coming between me and Steven, fucking everything up."

"You know how much I love playing games." But there's not the usual joy in Walker's eyes, not the light teasing tone of his voice.

Brendan chances a glance at him, trying to believe that he has nothing to be ashamed of here, that he didn't do anything wrong. That this was because of Seamus. He realies how shaky his belief is, that he's still waiting for someone to tell him that he deserved this.

He feels weak, and he hates that feeling more than anything in the world, desperately wants to draw it from himself and destroy it by whatever means.

"This...friend of yours, that you had told me about. Who went through...who went through it too. Is he someone in here?"

Walker's face tenses, and just as he parts his lips, looks like he's about to say something, they're interrupted by Darren.

Brendan curses him internally. Osborne's already taken his money just so he could have one night with Steven, and now he's stumbling across private conversations.

He seems to read the atmosphere between the two men, and doesn't try to lighten the mood and crack an anecdote like he normally does. He tells them that the canteen will be closing soon, and Brendan shoves past Walker, not wanting to make his way down the stairs with him.

He gains ground on him, breaking out into a sprint of sorts, and when he looks back he sees he's far enough away from him to feel like he can breathe again, the shame and humiliation becoming numbed.

When he sees Steven standing in the queue, any thoughts of violence that he had leave him. It feels as though he can physically sense it rising from his body, and for the second time he joins Steven at his table, feeling as though this is where he belongs.

"Your little friends not joining us then?" Brendan asks, looking around the room for Ethan and Douglas.

He sees the eyes of the other prisoners staring back at him, curiosity etched upon their faces. They're still not used to this, aren't familiar with seeing Brendan abandon his usual routine and way of life, sitting opposite Steven like it's the most natural thing in the world.

Brendan doesn't break eye contact with them, staring them down until they look away into their bowls, trying to pretend that they weren't being nosy and judgmental .

"I guess they're still upstairs, talking. I hope Ethan's okay."

He wants to tell Steven that it's not wise to become this attached to people, that he's been here for less than three months and he already cares about the other men far more than he should.

But he can't help but admire him for it. He wears his heart on his sleeve, and Brendan thinks it's a lot braver than shutting everyone out, closing the blinds over yourself until no one can have access. He's well aware that if he tells Steven to stop trusting people so easily, then that includes himself too, and he's not ready to lose the boy. He'll never be ready.

"What's wrong?" Steven's voice breaks him out of his reverie. "You've got that constipated look on your face."

"You say the nicest things, Steven. Classy fella, you."

The boy smiles around his spoon, milk from his cereal trickling down his chin. Brendan misses his chance to lean over and lick it up with his tongue when Steven brushes it away with the back of his hand.

"I'm serious though. What's wrong? Are you thinking about Warren again?"

He's barely stopped thinking about it since it happened.

"No. I was just thinking about what I'm going to do to you later on."

Steven cocks his head to the side, eyes knowing.

"I can tell when you're lying, you know."

"How?" He asks, disarmed. He hadn't expected the boy to be this determined, this eager to want to know what's going through his mind.

"You get all twitchy." Steven holds his hands up and starts imitating him, hands and fingers moving erratically.

Brendan shakes his head slowly, trying to be offended instead of amused.

"I do not do that."

"You do," the boy replies emphatically, case closed.

Brendan realies he's fighting a losing battle, that Steven is constantly showing that he's smarter than he gives him credit for.

"I'm just...I'm worried about what he's going to do, when he gets back. Who he's going to hurt."

Steven looks down at the table, mouth downturned.

"Ever since I heard the news, I've been thinking about you."

Brendan frowns. "Me?"

"Yeah." The boy lowers his voice. "I mean if he finds out who hurt him, then...what if he comes after you?"

"I'm not worried about myself, Steven."

"Are you insane?" His voice is blunt, loud, and it causes several of the prisoners to look in their direction.

Steven doesn't even look like he's noticed. He's staring at Brendan angrily now, passion lacing his voice.

"This isn't some kind of joke. I've seen the things that Warren can do, and -"

"You think I haven't?" He's seen better than anyone. "I know exactly what Warren's capable of."

"Then why aren't you worried?"

"I am. Just...I'm worried about you," Brendan says quietly.

Steven's eyebrows knit together. He's not getting this, not understanding how he's the one who's most at risk here, because everyone in here knows that the way to hurt someone is to discover their weakness.

"Warren will target the people that I...that I'm closest to."

Saying it out loud only makes it more real. This is why he'd wanted to avoid this conversation. He can already envisage Warren coming after Steven, seeking pleasure in threatening him, playing twisted and sordid games.

"Maybe we should stop this."

Steven shakes out of his momentary daze, looking panicked.

"What are you talking about?" But he already looks like he knows exactly what Brendan's getting at.

"You and me. If Warren comes back and we're apart, then maybe -"

"Shut up."

Brendan's next words die on his lips.

"Steven -"

"No, I'm serious. You better stop that right now, or I swear..."

"What? You swear what?" Brendan's own frustration is rising now. He doesn't understand why Steven has to question him all the time, make everything so fucking _difficult_. He's trying to do the right thing here.

"I swear I'll try and get bloody revenge on you myself if you do what you're saying."

"I'm not saying anything." It comes out as a mumble, because he _is_ saying something, saying that he wants to quit this thing if it leaves Steven with a better chance of surviving in this place.

"Yes you are. You want to give up on us." Steven's staring at him in disappointment now, and it hurts to look at. Rejecting another person used to be as easy as breathing before.

Brendan tries to reason with him, needs him to understand that he's not doing this out of cruelty, but he senses that the boy won't care about the whys and what for's, that he'll still hear _I don't want you_ in every sentence.

"I just think that you'll be safer."

"We're in prison Brendan, I don't think I'll ever be _safe_." He's scowling now, seems to be trying to make this deliberately worse, because that's how Brendan likes him the most. Stubborn. Argumentative. Fighting back against him, like no one ever has before.

Brendan's retaliation is weakening. Everything in his body seems to be screaming at him to stay quiet now, that this is the best thing that's ever come into his life, and he's a bastard and an idiot for putting that in jeopardy.

Steven sees the battle raging within him, and only makes it that much stronger. He reaches across the table and strokes a hand down Brendan's face, tracing his lips. Manipulation at its finest.

Brendan feels his lids growing heavy under the touch, and begins to close his eyes. Steven's fingers are soft, impossibly soft, and it's easy to melt under the sensation, to let it drown out everything else.

"This isn't fair," he finds himself whispering. Steven's not even giving him a choice, is resorting to dirty tactics instead. "I don't want anything happening to you." He feels like a hypocrite when he's the one who's done the most damage to the boy, but his desire to keep him intact still exists within him.

"I can't do this without you." For a moment Steven sounds shaky, vulnerable, and Brendan can't help for his attention to be drawn to the years that separate them. But within an instant his voice changes, becoming something that could only be described as enticing.

"Even if you left me, you will come back to me."

Brendan's eyes snap open, and he registers the confidence on the boy's face, the deliberate flutter of his eyelashes.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. I don't think you could stay away."

Brendan doesn't want to admit just how right the boy is.

"What makes you so sure?" He's not denying it though. Not even close.

Steven shrugs, but it's too self aware to be nonchalant. He knows exactly what he's doing here.

"Just a feeling."

It's then that Brendan begins to feel the pressure against his leg, heading towards the direction of his crotch.

His muscles become tense, his legs rigid as he tries to push them tightly together, trapping the boy's foot in the process. Steven doesn't even blink, just reaches forwards and steals a slice of Brendan's toast, nibbling on it and regarding him through dark, lowered eyes.

"What are you doing?" It comes out as hiss, and he tries to dislodge the boy, to prevent his foot from moving any closer towards its target.

"What do you think?" It sounds like a hum, guttural and drawn out.

"Not _here_."

"Nobody's watching." There are crumbs scattered across the boy's lips, and he licks them off with his tongue. Slowly. Calculating. Like he wants Brendan to rise to it and lick them off for him, biting his lips in the process.

He concentrates on keeping his legs clamped together and his hands on the table, not giving the boy what he wants.

But he's starting to forget why that's not allowed. The gentle rub of Steven's foot against his dick feels achingly good, and he's tempted to sit back and let the boy do exactly what he desires, especially when he's looking at him like nothing would make him happier.

"Steven..." It doesn't come out with the anger that was intended. Brendan registers the frustration leeching through his voice, how his wordless no sounds a lot like a yes.

The boy grabs another slice of toast. He rarely has this big an appetite, but Brendan's noticed that he becomes like this sometimes, like he needs something to satisfy his oral cravings. It's obscene and fucking irresistible, hot.

Steven leans back against his chair, but his foot never loses contact.

"I think you owe me," he says casually, as if what's happening here isn't happening at all. "Talking about us not being together really has a habit of pissing me off, Brendan."

Jesus, Brendan doesn't think he'll ever get over how the boy says his name in that accent of his. It shoots straight to his dick, _Brendunnnn_.

"I think this is the least you can do to make it up to me, don't you?"

It makes Brendan's skin prickle, feel close to being on fire that _this_ is what the boy considers his reward. That he gets an infinite amount of pleasure from getting Brendan off, making him come.

It makes him feel like he'd be selfish to refuse.

Brendan looks around the dining room, and sure enough, Steven's words are accurate. No one is looking. They're too busy talking about Warren waking up, too busy arguing over who gets the last slice of toast in the queue, because when you're stuck in prison for years, that kind of shit becomes important.

He's pretty sure that even if someone did see Steven trying to make him come through his trousers, no one would bat an eyelid. Brendan's identity in this place is being gay, of fucking anything that moves, and everyone knows that he'll kill you if you dare to draw attention to this fact as though it's something bad.

He brings his chair closer to the table, and looks Steven straight in the eyes.

"You're right. I do owe you."

The boy smiles, because nothing in this life makes him happier than being fucked, and if he can't have Brendan on the table in front of hundreds of other men, then this will have to do.

Brendan frees his legs, releasing the wrung out tension in them, and feels while Steven circles his cock with his foot, his movements light and sparing to begin with. Now that Brendan's given him permission to do this he's teasing, deliberately holding out on him.

He continues to eat Brendan's toast the entire time, biting a crust while the pressure of his actions increase, and his lips are parted, looks like he's giving Brendan a blowjob while he regards him over the table, watching as the older man's arousal grows.

Brendan raises his hand to his face, biting against his knuckles as the boy's foot rubs against his dick again and again. He's dangerously close to letting out everything that he's feeling. He'd been lying the night before when he'd said that only Steven needed a gag. He feels close to the edge, close to revealing the whole thing, letting out an almighty groan, kicking the table out of the way and ridding the boy of his pants and shirt, fucking him on the floor.

"Are you hard?" He mouthes, not daring to risk looking underneath the table to see for himself.

Steven nods and gives that curious smile of his, a hint of shyness that contrasts so starkly with his actions. He can tell that the boy wants to start jerking himself off. His hands are shaking the smallest amount as he holds the toast, and it's not long before he discards it completely, unable to continue any longer on concentrating on anything but this.

Steven's neck is blotched with red, and his leg's moving frantically now, increasing in speed when Brendan mutters _fuck_ under his breath, hadn't thought this through at all, because he's going to come in his trousers, and there's no way he can walk out of this room without anyone noticing that.

He bangs a hand down onto the table, causing the cutlery to jump and lift into the air, ending back onto its former spot with a crash. He can see eyes turn in their direction, is relieved as hell when they turn away again after a moment, no doubt disappointed when a fight doesn't materalise, the only thing to pique their interest.

"Come here."

Brendan can't resist the command, and he leans forward over the table, kissing Steven roughly as the boy doesn't relent in his movements, continuing to rub against him the whole time.

Brendan moans into his mouth, his breathing laboured, the crash of their lips together violent. When he draws back to see the boy's face, he observes the way that his upper lip is reddened by his moustache, and it propels him to come, can't hold out a minute longer when Steven looks this fucking wrecked.

He manages to keep it surprisingly self contained, more quiet than he would have believed possible. The noise is so loud in the dining room that it muffles his grunts, and Steven doesn't take his eyes off him the entire time, his foot still moving against his cock as he ejaculates.

Brendan looks down at his jeans and sees the unsightly stain against them, but he can't bring himself to care. He feels oddly liberated, has never done something like this in his life, and would never have considered it, but he's been able to cross that line with this boy, and he feels giddy, overwhelmed by relief that the world hasn't come to an end.

He can tell that Steven hasn't come. There's no way that the boy would have been able to stay this quiet, and Brendan's desperate to wrap his mouth around his cock, bring him off properly. There's still something that Steven's squeamish about, still something that he sees as dirty, that makes him blush and grow embarrassed, and Brendan wants to overcome that together, to make the boy taste his own come back in the cell.

Brendan offers him his hand, and Steven accepts it immediately, looks immensely pleased with himself at what he just did.

Brendan feels the other mens eyes on them as they walk through the dining room. The officers gazes feel intense at first, make him feel ashamed at being like this, still has a semi in his pants, the boy beside him showing his erection through the material of his jogging bottoms as though he wears it with pride.

It's difficult to hold onto uncertainty and shame when Steven's smiling at him like he's his entire world, when his body's going to be his back in the cell, when he's going to have him sprawled on his bed, languid and available, and Steven _loves_ him.

As they reach the door of the cell, he can see doubt roam in Steven's eyes, and he badly wants to remove it.

"No more of this talk of us not being together, yeah?" He can hear from the boy's voice how important this is to him.

Brendan doesn't answer him a moment, has no idea what's right or what's best here, and he's not sure he's even capable of following it if he did.

He answers Steven with a kiss, and when the boy needs more than this, when he needs firm words and reassurance, he says quietly, "I'll never mention it again," and they go into the room together, closing the door behind them.


	24. Chapter 24

He's got him on his back, his legs wide open while Brendan surveys what's right in front of him, his lips parted in awe. Ste can hear the sound of his own breathing, the harsh in and out, the panting that only increases when Brendan moves closer to his groin.

The Irishman takes him by surprise by doing something gentle, tender. Exactly the opposite of what Ste had assumed was going to happen in his cell. They have a limited time here, a limited time before Ethan returns, and he'd thought that Brendan would want to rush this, that he'd have his lips around his prominent erection the moment that he wrangled him onto the bed.

His legs open even further, further than Ste's sure is physically possible, the gentle press of Brendan's lips nuzzling against his thigh, coaxing them. He can feel Brendan's tongue swiping along his hairs, making every one feel as though they're standing on end.

He still can't believe his own bravery, that he made Brendan come in a dining room full of other men. He hadn't even cast his eyes adrift to see if anyone had been watching them.

He was too consumed by what he was doing, the way his foot was sliding closer to Brendan's dick, rubbing against the hardness there until he could see the tell tell signs of Brendan's orgasm. He was more self contained than usual, but his facial expressions had given him away, and the muttered expletives under his breath, the near silent _fucking hell, Steven._

As they'd walked through the canteen he'd felt a sense of pride wash over him. Power at its finest and strongest. He was constantly aware that Brendan was doing all this because of him, breaking his own boundaries. That when the older man's hands shook slightly when fumbling for the door of the cell, it was because he couldn't wait to get him inside.

They hadn't waited for Brendan to change his stained trousers. He'd pushed Ste onto the bed before he'd even had a chance to undo his jogging bottoms, and Brendan had taken that decision out of his hands, pulling them down from around him fiercely, tugging until they were at the bottom of the bed, disjoined from their owner.

Ste hadn't realised quite how hard he was until he was naked. He'd been so focused on what he'd been doing to Brendan's dick that he'd almost been able to ignore the feeling of his own pressed uncomfortably against his underwear, and he blushed when he saw it curled against his stomach.

Brendan hadn't seemed so surprised. He'd stared down at Ste like this had been exactly what he'd expected, and when his hand reached for him he'd been deliberate in his movements, guiding Ste's cock into his mouth without pause or exploratory kisses. He seemed to sense that this was exactly what Ste wanted and needed.

But after a few initial instances of the head of his cock hitting against Brendan's throat with each back and forth movement, Ste's frustration is growing. Brendan's gone back to slow foreplay, so torturously slow. Ste wants to hit him with the sole of his foot and tell him to put his lips where he needs them the most.

He's beginning to understand that when Brendan's like this, staring at him as if he's high on what Ste's offering him, he can't talk sense into him. Any of his words will be ineffective and weak, because Brendan's in charge right now, and nothing will sway him.

But when someone says no Ste hears _yes_, and when there's nothing there's _everything_. He's putting his trust in being the only person that can break through Brendan's rules and his stubborn determination to be the one to set the limits, and it's why his hand begins to wander.

It starts at Brendan's back, gradually wandering down his spine and over the cheeks of his arse. He has to sit up in the bed to reach down further, and it unsettles Brendan, throwing him off the path that his lips had been making across the inside of his legs. He looks up at Ste, and there's curiosity there.

He's waiting with bated breath to see what the boy's about to do to him next.

Ste reaches his target, one of Brendan's many sweet spots, and he pushes in with one finger, no more foreplay, no gentle rub against his hole before entering. He feels the initial resistance of Brendan's inner muscles as they clamp down against the intrusion. It brings to mind brutal, punishing images, images that are increasingly swimming in Ste's head of late, that he desperately wishes he could tear from his mind, removing them permanently.

It makes him think of the man he loves being raped. It makes him expect Brendan to panic, to push him away, to hit him and tell him that no one ever goes there, that his hole is off limits, that the memories are too vivid and burning, and not something that he'll ever be able to overcome.

Ste hadn't realised the full extent of love, how it causes you to feel everything that the person feels, like their experiences are ones that you're living, and the poisonous acts that they had done to them are your own. Every time that Brendan's face looks twisted with emotion, Ste feels that same stab of pain and hurt.

He wants to be able to confront the man that did this to Brendan, to make him pay by whatever means. The fact that Seamus is dead hasn't done anything to weaken this resolve, this desire. He'd go to his grave and spit on it if he could. He's sure that until the day he dies he'll hate him, that he'll dream about all the things that Brendan could have been, the way that he could have known happiness, if only he'd had another father.

"Steven."

Brendan's murmur brings Ste's concentration back into focus, and he attempts to shake the unwanted images from his mind. He doesn't want Seamus to be more of a intruder in their lives than he already is, and he's feeling Brendan fighting against it too, seems to be forcing himself to relax, his hole taking in Ste's finger now in eagerness, allowing for a smooth passage.

When Brendan turns round in the bed, his arse settling close to Ste's lips, the boy smiles. He's managed to coax Brendan into being in one of his favourite positions, and he hasn't even had to say a word.

Brendan finally stops teasing him, and his mouth settles around Ste's cock, his arse propped up, his entrance on display to him. There's a light scattering of hair around his hole, and Ste feels mesmerised by it. He'd never expected to be turned on by something so masculine. It wasn't part of his life a few years ago, but now he can't imagine anything else, can't imagine denying that it makes him feel this good.

Brendan's loose for him now, and he easily slides a finger back into him, hitting against his prostate with each press inside him. It only causes Brendan to take his cock further down his throat, and Ste can feel the almost aggressive way that the man sucks him, his head moving with fervour, his hands gripping against Ste's thighs.

When Ste comes it's sudden, unexpected. He'd prided himself on the ability to last longer, but the sight of Brendan spilling into his trousers in the canteen is still fresh in his mind, and he's so tightly wound, craving the relief. He shouts out as he fills Brendan's mouth, his legs shifting up in the bed from the sensation, the feeling of release.

When Brendan turns to face him Ste's sucking on the same finger that was inside him moments before. His body's stretched out languidly, devoid of energy, his limbs splaying uselessly.

Brendan hasn't swallowed yet, and when he spits onto Ste's stomach the boy cries out in shock, looking down at his own come pooled across his belly button.

"What are you doing?"

He observes with half revulsion, half amazement as Brendan begins to massage his come into Ste's skin, as though it's the cream that he first used on his back all those weeks ago.

It's only when Brendan takes a swipe of Ste's come onto his finger that he realises what he's doing.

"Taste yourself."

"No," Ste says immediately, his voice laced with discomfort. Brendan knows that it's something that he's uneasy with.

"Why not?" Brendan spoons Ste's come into his mouth. "You're delicious."

"Yeah, and you're disgusting." He wrinkles his nose, looking resolutely away.

Brendan chuffs a laugh, and Ste can't help but refocus his eyes on him, can't stand being the subject of ridicule.

"What?" He barks out.

"Steven, you just tasted your finger."

"So?"

"So, that finger was in my arse."

"Your point?" Ste asks petulantly, already mentally planning a trip to the shower to get his stomach clean.

"I think it's a little too late to be squeamish, don't you? The places that you've been..." His gaze is heated, his voice light and playful, but his face anything but. Ste can't look away.

"That's different."

"How?" Brendan looks baffled, and his confusion is making Ste's own argument feel weak, insubstantial.

"Because..." He tries to reach for an answer, preferably one that makes sense. "It's just different," he finishes lamely, and he's not surprised when Brendan only continues to laugh louder.

"Please, explain it to me." Brendan settles back on his arse, his legs crossed in front of him. Ste's given him a semi, and he tries not to look at it, because if he does then he won't be able to think of anything else at all.

"It's different when it's _you_."

"You taste yourself when we kiss, you know."

Ste fidgets, sensing that Brendan's not going to give up here, and that his own resolve is crumbling.

"Yeah, but..."

"Come on, Steven. Just try." He moves a finger across Ste's stomach again, pooling up the viscous liquid.

"You're proper filthy, you."

"I know. Now try," Brendan says, tongue between his teeth. Fuck, he _wants_ this.

Ste sighs, closing his eyes. Perhaps if he doesn't look at it then it won't seem as unappealing. He opens his mouth, feeling faintly ridiculous as he does so, and waits to gag, to pull away from the taste of himself.

Brendan's finger is gentle when it enters his mouth, and he sucks on it instinctively, before he has time to consider his own reluctance.

He swallows it down in one gulp, and slowly opens his eyes. Brendan's face is inches from his own, but Ste's not afraid. The man's staring at him in fascination, his eyes tracking every line and contour of Ste's face, the slow bob up and down of his Adam's apple as he rids the contents of his mouth.

"Well?" Brendan's accent sounds thickened somehow, and it produces a strange effect in Ste, making his stomach feel as though it's churning. It's a ridiculous reaction, but unavoidable.

"It wasn't too bad," he concedes, and feels oddly liberated, as if yet another barrier has been crossed. "Don't get too excited though, I'm not saying it's going to become a regular event or anything," he continues wryly, already seeing the way that Brendan's eyes have lighted up with his acceptance.

"You say that now, but in a week's time you'll be begging to do that again." The cockiness of the man makes Ste want to throw a pillow at him, but Brendan still has his old one, and it's been so dismantled by Ste biting down on it already that he doesn't think it can take much more.

"Don't think so, Bren."

"Hmmm."

He feels his own resolve lessening by the confidence of Brendan's tone. Ste's aware of how persuasive he can be, and everything they've done together has already been a testament to that.

"Lie down."

"Why? What do you plan on doing to me?" He's not sure whether he's more wary or excited.

"Nothing that you won't like."

"I'll be the judge of that." But he settles back onto the bed, reaching for the covers now that his skin's beginning to cool down from its earlier exertion.

Brendan doesn't give him a chance to hide himself though, snatching the material out of his grasp.

"Er, what are you doing?"

Brendan restrains him with a hand on his shoulder. He seems to be in full alpha male mode, and Ste torn between not wanting to surrender his control, and liking it a hell of a lot.

"Just trust me."

That he's able to do. He wonders if he should feel foolish that he has such belief in the man after everything that he's done, but it seems to be unshakeable.

He feel so relaxed that he's sure he could fall asleep here and now, but Brendan's hands on him are distracting.

"Just close your eyes."

"Easy for you to say, you're not the one having your tummy rubbed."

"It's meant to be calming, Steven." He can hear the smile in Brendan's voice.

"Nothing's ever calming with you," he says teasingly, but he does what he's told, making himself comfortable in the bed and settling into a post coital state.

He should have known that Brendan would leap at the possibility to take advantage of him when he's dozing, and his lips are easily coaxed open, Brendan's finger settling between his teeth. It's difficult to reject him when he's this close, and Ste finds himself swallowing again, the now lukewarm come slipping down his throat.

He wants to scold Brendan, but the finger vacates and re-enters his mouth too quickly for him to pause for breath. He can't believe that he's tasting himself again and again, that Brendan's transferring his come from Ste's stomach to his mouth as though it's nothing more unusual than the breakfast that they were having this morning.

This shouldn't be making him hard, but it is. He wonders when he became as perverse as Brendan. Perhaps he's always been this way, and is only just starting to realise.

"Had enough, Steven?" He sounds immensely satisfied, but Ste's not willing to admit that he was right, and that this is yet another battle that he's won.

"Never wanted it in the first place, me." He doesn't sound quite as convincing as he'd like, and he feels a stirring of disappointment inside him that there's nothing left to taste.

There's definitely something wrong with him.

The pressure of Brendan's finger is replaced by the pressure of his lips, and their kiss is exploratory and slow. Ste can still taste the tang of his come on his tongue, and he knows that Brendan can taste it too. It only seems to make the Irishman want him more, his kisses growing deeper and more probing.

They're never going to leave this room again if Ste doesn't put a stop to this. What's worrying him more is that he doesn't want to. It doesn't feel normal, wanting someone this much. He tries to tell himself that it's because they're still in the honeymoon period, if they're in a relationship at all. They've only just got back together, so maybe that's why they can't stop tearing their clothes off of each other.

But he senses that it's not that. That this is the way it's always going to be with Brendan.

That's if they'll have an always. His release date is looming, and all that Brendan has is an endless expanse of time in this place, stretched before him in weeks, months, years.

"Are you okay?"

He hadn't even realised how cut off he'd been. Brendan's perceptive, and Ste wonders for a moment if the older man can see the thoughts that have entered his mind, clouding and darkening his happiness.

He hopes he's not that transparent. He doesn't want that conversation now, doesn't want it ever. It's a reality that he refuses to deal with.

"Yeah, course."

Brendan doesn't look certain, and Ste leans forward to kiss him, hoping that it'll be enough of a reassurance. When Brendan looks at him again he seems satisfied, for now. When he cups Ste's face it's as though he's got him back from some far away place, from the prison of his own thoughts.

The come from Ste's stomach has all gone, but there are still some faint outlines of the remains, and he pads out of bed, wandering over to the sink. He's aware of Brendan's eyes following him across the room, and feels vaguely self conscious for a moment, his arse on display, his cock now swinging between his legs.

He looks down at himself as he grabs a washcloth. He sees how skinny he is, the fragility of his body. He loves it when Brendan's on top of him, loves the contrasts and the way that Brendan's stronger, bigger. But when he's away from his hold he feels weak again, a natural target for men like Terry and Warren.

"I was thinking..."

That immediately arouses Ste's suspicions. Brendan's not one for pillow talk.

"What?" He says reluctantly, a million different scenarios appearing before his eyes, all of them unpleasant.

"Maybe you could move back here."

He wasn't expecting that, and his hand holding the cloth stills over his skin.

"We've talked about this."

"Yeah, but that was before this. Before...I mean, we're back together now, aren't we?"

He's shocked to hear Brendan put it in those terms. He thought he'd be alone in regarding it as a reunion. At the back of his mind had lurked the fear that Brendan had moved on quickly, hadn't even waited around before he'd replaced him with Kevin.

But then he thought about Brendan catching him with Simon, and he knew that he didn't have the right to take the moral high ground, although fuck, it felt good to sometimes.

"Yeah," he concedes. "But maybe it's too soon. And what about Tony -"

"Let me work on Tony. Just because he didn't say yes the first time..."

"Wait, you went to him and asked?" Ste can't imagine it, can't believe that Brendan could have sat in the governor's office, buried his pride and asked for a transfer.

From the way that Brendan's beginning to colour, he hadn't intended to reveal that fact.

"It was nothing." His voice is far too strained, his words too deliberate for it to be nothing.

"What did he say?" Ste asks curiously. No one ever denies Brendan anything, and he'd imagined Tony to be someone who'd crumble at the first sign of intimidation.

"He can't keep on changing things, it'll cause too much disruption, blah blah blah," Brendan drones, looking decidedly irritated. "It wouldn't take much for me to wear him down."

"Don't go hurting him," Ste says, voice rising. Tony's one of the few people that he feels protective over in this place.

"Who said anything about hurting him?"

"It's what you do, isn't it?" Ste immediately regrets his words when Brendan's face falls, and inwardly curses himself for never monitoring what's about to come out of his mouth. He feels thoughtless.

"Sorry."

"You've got nothing to be sorry for," Brendan says quietly, eyes on the floor. "I'm the one who fucks everything up."

"No, that's not true." Ste reaches out to comfort him, to lay a hand against Brendan's own, but the older man brushes him off and his hands move away, useless.

"I know what you must think of me. The things I've done..."

"No, stop that, right? Don't try and read my mind. That's not what I think at all."

Brendan stares at him levelly then, looking like he's trying to search Ste's eyes. Ste's scared to return the gaze, afraid of giving Brendan's any more ammunition to his theories.

"I think you're scared of me."

Ste jumps in to protest, but Brendan holds up a hand, silencing him.

"Maybe not all of the time, but -"

"No, not any of the time!"

"Steven." Ste can see him struggling with the words, looking like they're being punched out of his chest. "I hurt you. More than once, and in every way that it's possible to be hurt."

"No, not in every way." Ste shakes his head adamantly. This is what hurts, to hear Brendan talk like this, to see him hate himself this much. "You would never do what your dad did. You'd never..."

His lips won't form the words. Can't.

"Maybe not that, but everything else. When you first came here I wasn't exactly...welcoming." He laughs, but it sounds punishing. "You must have thought that God was against you, putting you in a cell with a murderer."

"Brendan, I don't even believe in God."

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah, maybe I was scared, being with someone who'd done what you had." He's willing to admit that, still remembers the early days of his incarceration, and how his mind had conjured up worst case scenarios, mainly consisting of Brendan killing him in his sleep.

It makes him laugh now, thinking of that naive kid who didn't know anything about the man standing before him.

He's determined to convince Brendan that it belongs to a different lifetime. That it's far removed from where they are now.

He takes Brendan's face in his hands, forcing him to look at him.

"I got to know you, and I had nothing to be scared of anymore. What happened with Seamus, it was something you had no control over."

"I didn't have to kill him. Thousands of people have been through what I have, but they don't murder their own father. They don't abandon their kids, they don't deal drugs, they don't -"

"Brendan." Ste's close to knocking his knuckles against the Irishman's head in a vain attempt to try and make some of this knowledge his own. "I don't care about what everyone else does. I care about you, okay? I care about what happens to you. I know you think you're a monster, but I wouldn't love a monster, would I? I wouldn't be sat here, trying to save a man that couldn't be saved."

He can feel something warm and wet against his hand now. Ste's sure that if he licked against it it would taste salty.

He wipes it away, and smooths his thumbs across Brendan's face, over his eyelashes and against the curve of his mouth.

"What if I can't be saved?"

"I guess I'll have to die trying then." Ste laughs, nudging him on the shoulder to signify that he's joking, although he's not entirely sure that he is. He thinks it's feasible - not that Brendan can't be saved, but that he'd spend the rest of his life trying to ensure the man's happiness, even if it's over his own.

Ste knows that he can't allow Seamus to win. That if he does, even for a second, then he's ensured that he's destroyed his son's life, his future, and they'll never be anything brighter than the walls and metal fences that cordon Brendan off from the rest of the world.

It's why Ste risks his next words, even though he knows the damage they could cause.

"I've been looking at...programs here."

Brendan frowns, not yet connecting the dots. Ste fears the moment when he does, when he disentangles himself out from Ste's hold, removing himself from his warmth.

"Courses. Kind of like cooking, but..." But completely unlike it. He's trying to dress it up, to make it sound less painful than it is.

"What do you mean?"

Ste takes a breath, preparing himself for the consequences. He knew when he'd begun searching around, asking questions days ago that Brendan wouldn't like this. That he'd actively fight against it.

He's willing to take that risk.

"Anger management. Counselling."

Brendan rises from the bed and Ste's hands still in midair, feeling the loss of contact.

"I told you -"

"Yeah, but..." He's not sure what he can do to justify this. He can list the positives, the fact that Brendan could finally get help, could learn to control his temper, but it sounds too clinical, too cold. He doesn't want to be someone that Brendan feels distanced from, just another professional who's never been able to help him.

He needs Brendan to understand that this is a journey that he took himself. That he knows exactly how terrifying it is, how it's baring your soul to another person and showing your deepest vulnerabilities.

Most of all, he needs to make Brendan believe that it's worth it.

"I'm not doing it." Brendan's words are firm. They'd be enough to make a man with less courage back down now.

Ste doesn't know whether he's brave or stupid for not relenting.

"There's this man in here Brendan, this therapist -"

"I don't give a fuck. I'm not seeing someone, and talking to them about my dad. I told you that it's something that I'll never do."

"And you think I didn't say the exact same thing, when I first heard about counselling? You think that I wasn't scared?"

"I'm not scared."

Ste laughs disbelievingly. He doesn't care if Brendan's a frightened wreck, if he's shaking in the corner, crying and telling him that he doesn't want to get help. He just wants him to be able to admit it.

"You're terrified, because that's the man that Seamus has made you."

Brendan shakes his head resolutely. Ste has been in this position too many times to be fooled by it. It took Amy countless attempts before he even agreed to step through the door of anger management.

"I told you that I'm not just going to forget about what you did to me," Ste says quietly. It's still hard to think about that night, when he'd felt like he'd lost everything. When Brendan left him with bruises, transferring out of his cell like they'd never been in each others lives at all.

He forces himself to remember, otherwise it's far too easy to pretend that there was nothing wrong with what happened. To feed himself lies that Brendan will never do it again.

"When it happens again, and you hit me next time -"

"It's not going to happen again!" Brendan says, running his hands through his hair in frustration. Ste's not even sure if he believes it.

"When it happens again," he repeats, "I can't just...I can't just forgive you. I can't stay while you hurt us both. And I don't want to ever not love you."

"Steven, I give you my word." It's Brendan's turn to come closer, to put his hands on Ste's face and try to convince him of the strength and truth of his statement.

"Words don't really mean anything."

Brendan's hands fall to his sides once more, and Ste can see the raw, blazing panic in his eyes. The fact that he has so little control over his own actions, and he can't say with conviction that he'll never bruise him again.

"Why are you doing this?" He can see it on Brendan's face, how he honestly believes that Ste's trying to wound him, trying to make him weak.

"Because I want you to get better."

"You make me better. Talking to you." He's desperate now, making a last frantic attempt to convince him to let them stay like this, exactly like this.

"I'm not a therapist, am I? I'm just...me. As much as I love Amy, she couldn't have helped me, not with this. I needed someone who didn't know me, who wasn't so attached."

"So you want me to talk to a complete stranger?" He makes it sound like Ste's offended him, like he's asking him for something crazy, impossible.

"He's meant to be really good, this guy."

Brendan scoffs. "Well of course they're going to say that. Who told you, Tony? He's not going to tell you that his own staff are shit, is he?"

"Just have some faith, won't you?" Ste feels ridiculous for saying it, feels preachy and patronising, especially considering the distinct lack of faith that he's had in his own life.

He can hardly believe it when Brendan doesn't instantly shoot him down.

"This guy's a therapist, yeah? He has the actual qualification?"

"No Bren, he's just some hobo whose wandered off the streets. Of course he's an actual therapist! I talked to Tony about some of his qualifications. Pretty impressive."

"Why would he want to work in a dump like this?"

Ste ignores the negativity. He's starting to sense Brendan's resistance weakening, and he's planning on taking full advantage of that fact.

"Maybe because he wants to help people."

"Hmmm," Brendan replies skeptically. "Isn't there someone else?"

"What do you mean?" He asks, confused now.

"I don't know...a woman or something." His voice is strained, awkward.

Ste could kick himself for failing to understand how uncomfortable this could be, and not just because Brendan would be opening up like that to another person.

He hadn't considered the fact that the therapist's older, potentially old enough to be Brendan's father. That he's a man, and Brendan has never been able to trust another man in his life.

Until now, he hopes.

"I think there's just him." He trails off, wondering if there's anything he can say to make this better, to seem more of a proposition and less of a trap, a torture. "He sounds really nice." It's a weak argument, and he's starting to regret broaching the subject in the first place, wondering if this was a mistake to begin with, and it's opened up a Pandora's box of emotions.

"Please, just try. And not for me, but for yourself."

"But I am doing this for you, aren't I? You're telling me that if I don't go, then I'm going to lose you."

"No, don't paint me out to be the bad guy here!" Ste feels like he's just been accused of trying to emotionally blackmail him, to manipulate him into talking about the childhood that he's been trying to run away from.

But then he remembers how he was like. How it was easier to attack than to accept help.

"I want you to do this because you want to, Brendan."

"I'll never want to do that."

"Really? So you want to continue the way you are? You're not happy. I thought that I could change that, that I could make you be, but no one can do that for another person, can they? You're not even close to dealing with what your dad did to you. Killing him didn't kill everything else."

Brendan looks at him, looks so fragile and young that it takes his breath away.

"You're wiser than you look."

"Does that mean you'll go?"

Brendan sighs, looking exhausted. Less than an hour ago he was smiling, seemed more alive than he is now. Ste feels like he's just switched a light off.

"When is it?"

That's a start. He can work with that. It's something.

"Tomorrow morning."

Brendan raises his eyebrows. "Jesus, you don't hang around, do you? How am I supposed to be ready for then?"

"You don't have to buy a suit and get your tache trimmed. You just turn up."

"How long is it?"

"Fifty minutes."

"Where is it?"

"Why, already planning your escape route are you? Thinking of crawling out through the window?"

"Something like that," Brendan says wryly, and Ste can well imagine it, can picture Brendan excusing himself to go to the toilet and never coming back.

"I've got the room written down. Don't worry, you can come to my cell in the morning before, and we can talk."

Brendan doesn't seem to know whether to be grateful or insulted.

"I don't really talk, Steven."

"Well maybe you're going to have to learn how to. Besides, you're better at it than you think. You haven't run away yet, have you?"

"That's because I'm with you. I feel..." The words get stuck in his throat, and Ste can see him struggling, floundering. "I feel...safe when I'm with you."

The compliment feels like Ste's bathing in warm water, like it's surrounding him and making him light up from the inside.

But this isn't about him.

"It's time to feel safe with someone else too."

"I don't know if I ever can." It's achingly honest, and Ste wants to remind him of just how much he's revealed in this room. How it's possible for him to share these truths with someone else, someone who can help in ways that he can't.

"You'll be okay." He needs Brendan to understand that it's not always going to be this dark, this black and devoid of hope.

"Who am I seeing? Who do you want me to tell my life story to?" His words are light, but there's heaviness behind his tone. Fear.

"His name's Des."

"Short for Desmond?" Brendan immediately questions.

Ste smiles, can't stop himself. "I don't know. You'll have to ask him, won't you?"

"I can hardly wait." He rolls his eyes skywards, but there's something there which gives Ste hope. He can't believe that they've gone from an outright rejection to him agreeing to go, to try. He feels intense satisfaction, feels like half the battle is already won.

When he kisses the Irishman on the forehead, Brendan smiles at him, sheepish grin on his face.

"What exactly was that for?"

"You know."

* * *

He can't sleep, and he's always able to sleep with Steven beside him.

Perhaps it's because it's five o'clock in the evening, and his normal sleeping pattern is being compromised. But it's never stopped him before, and he always finds himself in a daze after fucking, like a post coital burn out.

He's wide awake now though, Steven tucked under his arm.

Brendan watches the boy's breaths, sees how peaceful he looks in slumber. He wishes he could be that free, that undisturbed by trouble or worry.

There's always a ticking clock, a mountain of pressure on his shoulders. Steven had begun to unburden his load, but now he's added more to it, and it's under threat of buckling, of rendering him as weak as Seamus had always predicted he'd be.

He's a grown man, but he feels like a child sometimes, and today it's crippling him.

He's not used to being dictated to like this. He'd never imagined agreeing to therapy. He fears the very word, hates it with a vengeance. But he hates the thought of being apart from Steven even more, and this is the deal breaker, the Catch 22.

If he doesn't go and meet Desmond tomorrow, then he'll lose Steven. If he does go, then he'll be humiliated. He'll have to watch as a stranger probes into his life, tries to uncover something that he's worked so hard to keep concealed.

He'd thought that his biggest worry would be Warren, but it's almost seeming like a distant memory now. He's still in the hospital, still away from Steven, but therapy is tomorrow, is looming large and threatening, and it feels unavoidable. He's tried to conjure up ways of not going and lying to Steven about it, perhaps by showing Desmond exactly what he can do to him if he reveals the truth to the boy or to Tony.

But if Steven finds out then he's going to lose him. Whatever he does, he loses.

Brendan pulls him further towards him, and Steven easily settles closer to him, even in sleep. He wonders how the boy can possibly love him after knowing everything that he is, everything that he's done. He keeps on expecting to wake up and for Steven to not be here, to have never been here at all. He doesn't deserve this.

He's reluctant to wake the boy up when an officer knocks for supper. He's aware that Steven could do with a good square meal, especially considering all the weight that he lost when they were apart, weight that he couldn't afford to lose. But the tranquility of the boy's appearance makes him reluctant to shake him, especially when he could be dreaming of a better reality than the one that he exists in.

Brendan needs to get used to being alone. If Steven ever hears about the full extent of his past then he'll want nothing to do with him. Perhaps he'll realise that the abuse was all his fault, just like everyone else did by never saving him.

He walks to the dining room with the officer, leaving the boy in his bed. He's grateful that for a few hours, Steven will be safe from him.


	25. Chapter 25

He's devoid of energy this morning, anger being the only emotion that gives him an ounce of drive. It makes him shrug the bed covers away, makes him rise from the pillow despite being awake the whole night, staring at the ceiling and wondering how he could have got himself into this mess. How he could have told Steven that he would go this morning, and sit in a room with a complete stranger, expecting to reveal his history.

Brendan ignores Ethan's protestations about playing his music earlier than usual, the thud of his body while doing his exercises waking the younger man.

He grunts as a sign of acknowledgment, a good morning, but no other words spill from his lips. He doesn't have the patience, knows that he's not capable of anything polite when he feels a sense of impending doom about what's to come.

Ethan's as much of a quivering wreck as he is, although Brendan prides himself on hiding his own distress far more convincingly. While Brendan tries to drown out his own thoughts in the music, Ethan feeds into his fears, pacing the cell and growing increasingly more anxious.

He wants to say something, wants to talk about Warren, but Brendan's purposefully looking away, not giving him the chance.

If the name of his rapist is mentioned then it'll only remind Brendan of his own, and what he has to face. What he's been afraid to face for years now, and it's only because of one person that he's even contemplating trying.

He washes the sweat off of himself in the sink, and begins to get changed.

"Where are you going dressed so smartly?" Ethan stares at him curiously, his eyes trailing over the suit that Brendan's changing into. It's one that's usually only been reserved for court appearances, and he has to brush it down to discard the dust that's lingered over time.

"None of your business."

Disappointment settles over Ethan's face. Brendan knows that he's breaking something here, a tentative sort of relationship that they'd formed, an agreement of sorts. But he's in no mood to be challenged about today, about where he's going. He knows that he sticks out like a sore thumb, not his standard uniform of black trousers or jogging bottoms.

But he needs this _Desmond_, this fucking therapist, to see that he's capable. That's he's more than a match for him, and isn't like most of the other people in here, a waste of space taking up air. He wants him to understand that he was someone once, that he owned his own club, and was a father. A proper father, and he had a future.

That's if he manages to last more than ten minutes without cancelling the entire thing. Jumping out of the window seems appealing, and already what Steven expects he'll do. Why surprise him when he lets people down so excellently? It's what he does. Anything other than that is taking a step into the unknown.

He's about to make the long walk down to the room that Steven's written down for him, when he's ambushed. He'd hoped to make his escape before he followed him here, had thought that rising at such an early hour would deter him. But the blue eyed, golden haired boy leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms and looking at him like he's got his number. He knows his game.

"Steven." He mutters it, can't hide the displeasure from his voice. He doesn't want Steven to see him like this, this anxious and out of control, his hands shaking in the pockets of his suit. He's meant to be the strong one. Steven won't want to be with this shell of a man.

He takes in the shadows under the boy's eyes, and how his hoodie is inside out, as though thrown on in a rush. He can imagine Steven running down the hallway, desperately trying to catch him before the appointment, and making sure that he attends. He's meant to be _with_ the boy, not having to be babysat. He didn't want Steven up all night worrying about him, but he can see that his worst fears have been confirmed, the boy stifling a yawn and looking dead on his feet.

He can't help his mind from drifting to Walker. How Steven wouldn't be worrying like this if he was with him, because Walker almost appears sane in comparison. The better choice. The better man.

"Give us a kiss then." Steven puckers his lips comically, the kind of thing that would make Brendan laugh if he wasn't feeling so utterly humourless.

He looks over his shoulder at Ethan, signifying that they have company. He knows that's bullshit though. He fucked Steven with Douglas lying inches away from them. He doesn't care who sees them together.

But he's scared that this could be goodbye. Their last kiss, when Steven hears about how Desmond's been attacked, how Brendan can't even sit in a room with someone for fifty damn minutes without being violent. He doesn't want that memory. He wants to remember the last time, when things had seemed right and _good_.

Steven doesn't buy his sudden bout of shyness.

"Come on! I've had to wait all night, me." He smiles, and it eases something in Brendan, something twisted and strained. He feels lighter, and Steven's drawing him towards him, isn't even using his hands but Brendan's moving, and pressing their lips together.

He tries to keep it as chaste as possible, but it deepens despite himself. Steven's mouth is warm and inviting, and a reminder of why he's doing this. Why he's agreed to seek help, that four letter word that he hates, because of the weakness that it brings. He can't help but feel grateful at how Steven's willing him to try. Like he hasn't yet realised that he can't be fixed.

"I'll be here when you get back, yeah? I mean obviously I wouldn't be anywhere else, it's not like I can get out of this place, but..." Steven laughs, his words a jumbled mess. He looks dazed from the kiss, resting his forehead against Brendan's, and the Irishman thinks he understands what he means. He's not leaving him.

"Thank you, Steven."

He tries to move out into the corridor, but the boy follows him.

"You going to tail me the whole way there, or..." He doesn't believe that he's going. He thinks that he'll chicken out, as though there's somewhere to run to and hide in this place.

"No, course not." Steven lets out a shaky laugh and stands aside, but Brendan can see the reluctance there.

As he walks down the hallway, he doesn't have to look back to know that Steven's watching him. Observing him, most likely in concern. He hates that he's someone's worry, someone's problem.

Brendan finds the room easily enough with Steven's instructions. He's surprised that there's a single inch of the place that he's not yet familiar with, but he's never been this way before. The therapy centre feels closed off from the rest of the place. It's quieter, and he guesses that the atmosphere is designed to be peaceful, almost spiritual. He feels faintly surprised when he doesn't encounter Walker doing yoga on a rug somewhere.

There's a woman at reception who smiles at him, asking him if he needs any help. He tells her he can find the place himself, already beginning to feel stifled by the attention, by the kindness. He's not used to it.

If he wasn't within the woman's eyeline then he's sure he'd lose his nerve, and wouldn't even be able to knock on the door that he knows is Desmond's office. But he's got an audience, and his knuckles tap against the wood with more confidence than he feels.

He hears a murmur telling him to come in, and he steps into the room.

The man isn't what he expected. He looks in his forties, black and dressed more like a priest than a therapist. Brendan was anticipating someone far older, perhaps with thinning grey hair and glasses, with a collection of Freud books in the corner.

Instead the room is sparse, with two seats including the one that Desmond's sitting on, and a large bed covered by thin sheets. Brendan's eyes travel over it. He's heard of the cliched couch in places like this, but he hadn't envisioned this. He wonders whether he's expected to lie on the bed.

That's never going to happen.

He immediately sits in the chair facing Desmond, his stance guarded. He draws himself up to his full height, and stares across at the man coldly. Starting as he means to go on.

"Brendan?"

He nods, resisting the urge to ask who the fuck else it would be.

He notices the softness of the man's voice. It's lowered, unintimidating. Deceptive, because Brendan's sure that by the end of the session he'll have seen his true nature, and he won't be so _soft_ anymore.

"I'm Des."

"Desmond," he corrects, on instinct.

Desmond blinks at him, but doesn't comment. Doesn't scold him for it, and it surprises him.

"I'm a registered psychologist here, and a psychodynamic psychotherapist."

Brendan gaze is blank. These are just terms to him, terms straight from a fancy textbook that mean nothing.

He doesn't hide his confusion well enough, and Desmond nods his head knowingly, like this is a standard part of his job, revealing the specifics.

"Psychodynamic psychotherapy consists of exploring the unconscious mind of the client's psyche."

Not so different to his initial suspicions about Freud then. Brendan sighs and leans back in the chair, already internally counting the time away. Forty nine minutes to go.

"You don't look very impressed," Desmond says. It sounds like a statement rather than a judgement.

"I've heard it all before, Doc. People trying to convince me to come to these...things," he replies with distaste, thinking that Desmond should consider himself lucky that his words are being considered, and not designed to offend. Not yet.

"But this is your first time in therapy?"

"Do I look like a regular?" He stretches his hands over his head, eyes travelling over the man before him. He wonders what could possibly make someone voluntarily work in a place like this, trying to pick apart the minds of murderers.

"What's made you want to come and see me?"

Brendan laughs. He'd thought that it would be obvious that he was dragged kicking and screaming.

"I don't want to. Someone made me."

Someone who is, unfortunately or fortunately, worth it. Worth this pain and humiliation.

"Really? So someone tied your hands and made you come here?"

Brendan's disarmed by the question, finds himself stuttering before clearing his throat, alarmed by his own uncertainty and nervousness.

"No, but there were...conditions."

"Such as?"

Already probing and sticking his fucking nose in. Brendan's about to tell him to back off, but perhaps he should get this over with as soon as possible. He wants to get a rise out of him, wants to get a reaction that'll force the man to drop this nice guy act.

"I'm gay."

His eyes don't leave Desmond's face, but he sees no evidence of shock or disgust there. It's unnerving.

He continues, trying to get something. Revulsion. Something that'll prove his belief that this is all a waste of time.

"And this condition was that the guy I'm..." He deliberates over his words. "Seeing," he eventually settles on, "Will leave me if I don't come here."

Desmond nods, and it only makes Brendan more unsettled, doesn't understand how he can seem so calm about this. Dressed in his smart attire, a cross settled around his neck, Brendan had thought that Desmond would start preaching him the ways of God, how his sexuality is an abomination.

"So you don't want to lose him?"

"No. I don't." It's difficult to admit it out loud, and he already feels like he's revealed too much. He'd planned to come here and not say anything.

"Why does this man think you should be here?"

Brendan shrugs, pretends he doesn't have a fucking clue and that he's fine, everything's _fine_.

"Is he concerned about you?"

His throat feels dry, feels like there's a lump lodged there.

_Yes, he's worried about me._

_No, of course he's not._

Brendan wrestles between it - saying too much, or not enough. Not nearly enough, because he's seen the concern, seen how much Steven thinks about him, even if he can't understand why.

"Maybe." It still feels too honest, too close to the truth.

He waits for Desmond to press it, to ask him what the boy's so worried about. To try and get inside his mind, and hunt out what's so wrong there.

There's only silence, and it stretches before them, making Brendan feel even more uncomfortable. He was meant to be in control here, but he can't predict this, can't tell what the man's next words will be, or his next line of questioning. He thought this would be an interrogation, but Desmond's sitting back in his chair like he has all the time in the world to hear. Like he _wants_ to hear.

In the quietness, Brendan's eyes are drawn to the bed again.

"Do you expect me to lie on that thing?"

"It's beneficial for some people."

"I'm not going to." He says it firmly, a hint of panic betraying his attempt at coldness, detachment.

"That's okay."

He'd rather stay where he can see the man. Where he can still cling onto safety.

Brendan plays with his hands in his lap, digging his nails into his skin where Desmond can't see. He stares at the man expectantly, wants him to say something, make these fifty minutes pass quicker so he can get back to his cell and tell Steven that he tried. That he went to one lousy therapy session, and it didn't work. That they can all move on now.

The sound of the clock ticking on the wall is too loud, and he can feel the man's eyes boring into him.

"Is this it? Is this what I'm supposed to do here? Sit in silence?"

"What did you expect to be doing?"

Brendan snorts. He'd heard how this is the way they do things, that they never answer anything, just throw more questions at you.

"I thought you might give me some leaflets, wave a watch in front of my eyes."

"This isn't hypnotism, Brendan."

"Come on, Doc. Don't you want to find out all about my deepest darkest secrets?"

When Desmond doesn't reply, it only causes Brendan to swear under his breath. He's not rising to the bait, looks as collected as ever, like this isn't even frightening him, sitting inches away from someone who's done what he has. Is he that used to it, to working with murderers and rapists and psychopaths, or is he like Steven, and he views Brendan as a man?

Brendan shakes the thought from his head. Steven's made him grow sentimental, and to trust people far too easily. He's certain that Desmond's misleading him on purpose, and is waiting to strike when he's at his weakest, most vulnerable. He expects him to be lying on the bed, tears dripping from his eyes while he tells him everything, and then he'll reveal the hatred that lies behind his pleasant exterior.

He's not falling for it.

He decides that if Desmond's going to remain silent, then so will he. He stares at a spot on the wall, focusing on it so intently that his vision begins to blur, but still he doesn't look away. His jaw feels like it was carved from plaster, painfully rigid from tension, but he doesn't relent, continuing on in his mute state.

He expects Desmond to talk, to ask him something, to comment on his lack of speech. But he never does.

His only words are at the end of the session.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Brendan."

He feels like a dead weight's just struck him.

"What?" He's sure that he must have misheard.

"You've been booked to see me everyday."

He doesn't try to hide the expletive that spills from his lips. "Every fucking day?"

"That's what you're down for, yes."

Brendan stands up, punching a fist against the chair. Desmond doesn't even blink.

He tries to say something, tries to protest and make it clear that this wasn't any of his idea, but he feels too overtaken by anger, and it's contorting his words. He abandons the idea, and can only roughly open the door and smash it closed behind him, charging out of the office and ignoring the alarmed stare of the woman at reception.

He charges through the corridors and others move out of his way, pressing themselves up against the wall to allow him to pass. Those who aren't so accommodating end up on the floor, Brendan forcefully pushing a hand against their chests. He can hear officers calling after him, but he escapes from their demands and their suffocating presence, instead treading the path that he's walked down for years now, back to his block.

Instead of moving back to his own cell he enters Steven's without knocking, and removes Douglas from the room by the scruff of his collar before he even has time to argue.

Steven stares at him speechlessly from his bed, eyes roaming from Douglas now exiled outside, and Brendan's dark and furious eyes.

He can see Steven make a conscious attempt to recover his nerves, and he feels a stab of guilt for making him so momentarily scared. He's aware of how he must look right now, how insane and wild and frightening.

"What did you do that for?" The boy's insolent tone is strangely comforting. Familiar.

"Why did you book me into that place everyday, Steven?" He tries to keep his voice measured, restrained. He's on thin ice here, and if he touches the boy aggressively again then he knows that's it. His lifeline gone.

"They were offering it, and -"

"And what? You thought that was an excuse to sign my life away to them?"

Steven huffs, crossing his arms. "Stop being so dramatic, right? It's not even an hour. And it's not like..." He cuts off, and if Brendan was smart and self protective then he wouldn't press it. But he's neither of those things.

"Not like what?"

It hangs between them, unsaid but evident, that he doesn't have a life to sign away. That he's not like Steven, who has the right to be choosy, to dream of something better than these four walls. For Brendan, this is as good as it gets.

"Look, I'm sorry. I should have asked your permission first, but I thought that if you really want to make this work, then..."

And he does. A part of him _does_ want to make this work, for Steven's sake if nothing else. He's tried to want this for himself, just like the boy had asked. But he's only doing this for one person. He wants to make him proud, the kind of proud that Brendan gets when he sees Steven cooking, when he sees his intelligence and his strength and his dedication and passion.

He feels his anger numbing, replaced by exhaustion instead. Exhaustion at what he's just had to sit through, with the energy it took to try and appear normal, when he feels anything but.

"How was it?" Steven asks tentatively, his voice soft now.

"It was fine."

"It wasn't. I can tell from your face."

"Why did you ask me then?"

"I wanted to see if you'd be honest with me." The boy's biting his lip, cheeky and deliberately seeing how far he can go.

"It was..." He doesn't know what to say. He doesn't want to alarm Steven, to make him understand exactly how difficult he found it. But he knows that he can't hide anything, not from him. "I don't think I can do this." He whispers it, half hoping that the boy won't hear, and together they can forget about this, and agree for him to never walk through the doors of the therapy centre again.

"The first time I went to anger management, I was a mess after."

"Yeah?" Brendan asks, and doesn't know whether to feel more compassionate for him, or grateful that he's not the only one to be such a complete wreck.

"I swore to myself that I'd never go again, that it wouldn't help. I felt so weak, so...pathetic. Like I couldn't even sort it out by myself. I hated that I couldn't just stop hitting Amy, that I had to see someone else to get better."

"It takes time, Steven."

"Then why aren't you believing that?"

It's different. He doesn't think Steven can understand the true implications of that, how Steven lived with it for eighteen, nineteen years, and it's been here his _entire life_. That Steven was never pinned down and raped. That he's not a freak like him.

"I just don't think this is going to work."

"You went, didn't you?"

"Yeah," Brendan says, unsure where this is going.

"Don't you realise what a massive achievement that is?"

"Come on Steven, I don't need all this psychologist shit from you too." He feels weary, doesn't feel like he's achieved a single thing today except humiliating himself and losing his temper in front of someone who's now no doubt writing notes about him, assessing him.

"I mean it. The fact that you sat in that room and you survived it..." The boy's staring at him like he's actually proud of what he's done. As though his words aren't just lies to make him feel better about himself.

He dares to smile, and to gather strength from Steven when he returns it.

"Maybe you should apologise to Doug though," he says in amusement, nodding to the door.

"He deserved it. Always sniffing around..."

"Bren, he's my cellmate! You can't just get rid of him like that whenever you want."

"Why not?" He struggles to see the use of Douglas, how his presence could actually make the world a better place. He can't understand Steven's attachment to him, can understand Lynsey's even less.

"Play nice," Steven says warningly, but his voice is light, still buoyed by what Brendan's just done for him. He sees accomplishment where Brendan only sees failure.

Steven steps closer to him, smile coy and eyes dancing. "Now that you've done something for me, it's time for me to do something for you."

"Oh yeah?" Brendan's heart is already beginning to hammer in his chest.

He imagines Steven on his knees, staring up at him through thick and fluttering lashes, his lips closed tight around his cock, swallowing it down to the root and palming his loose and heavy balls.

He's never wanted to talk less, and his hands find Steven's shoulders, already preparing to gently let him know what he wants, pressing down on them and directing him to the floor.

"Yeah. That's what relationships are about, aren't they? Give and take."

They both still at his words, Steven looking like he hardly dares believe that they came from his own mouth. He looks apologetic and bashful, eyes scanning Brendan's face to assess his reaction.

Brendan remembers when Macca and Vincent had tried to tie him down, branded what they had as something exclusive, something normal, something that seemed so distinctly heterosexual to Brendan. Men weren't designed to have relationships with each other.

He thinks about his earlier words to Desmond, that he's _seeing_ Steven. He's never been afraid about being crude, about setting people on edge and making them uncomfortable. He could have told the man that he's fucking Steven, that it's nothing more than the exchange of salvia and having a warm body to keep him company, that in this place you need someone to satisfy those urges, otherwise you're little more than a robot, a machine.

But he hadn't. He'd said something conventional, something that he would have told people about Eileen in the days when they began dating. Except this time, it didn't leave him with a sinking feeling in his stomach, because with her he knew that he should want it, but he didn't. He couldn't make himself feel anything, no matter how hard he tried.

He's been silent for longer than appropriate, and Steven's staring at him worriedly. Brendan can already sense him wanting to retract his words.

"Yeah. Like I said, you're a wise one."

Any doubt leaves Steven's face, relief flooding through him, and he delivers Brendan a smile that's almost too intense. He doesn't think he's ever caused someone to feel that much joy, and it feels like a responsibility. Like if he lets him down now then he'll be destroying them both.

Brendan removes the dryness from his throat, trying to stop Steven's words from reverberating in his head. For the first time in his life he wants to be okay with this. He wants to drown out Seamus's hatred and all the things he would say if he could see him now, contemplating his life and his future with another man.

He wants to win.

"So, this thing that you're going to do for me..." He presses, hands moving to Steven's hoodie, his fingers working on the zip. He doesn't know when it started to not be enough, simply having Steven sucking him off. Suddenly, he has to _see_ him. All of him.

"I didn't mean that! One track mind," Steven tuts, bating his hands away.

Brendan feels a sour mood descending. A school boy sulk, only the stakes are higher now. His cock had already begun to stir hopefully, and he groans in frustration when Steven does his zip up again, the peek of skin that he'd managed to reveal being concealed once more.

It's like being given the keys to the kingdom and not being able to step inside.

"What else am I meant to think? You always want to fuck."

"No I don't!" But the boy's blushing, and his eyes travel to Brendan's crotch, eliciting a smirk from the older man.

"Come on, Steven." He's sure that if he plays this right then he can still get what he wants, and he invades the boy's personal space, breathing hotly onto his cheek. "You love having my cock inside you."

He feels Steven give in to it, feels his reluctance melt away as the boy moves closer as though gravity's pulling him.

Then his stubbornness kicks in, and Brendan's rewarded for his attempts at seduction by being pushed back firmly.

"I'm trying to say something serious here!" Steven argues, and Brendan sighs in frustration, laying down on his bed and hoping that the slight reveal of his skin as he t-shirt rides up will be enough to deter the boy.

He can see Steven looking, and it's a start.

"I mean that I want to do something serious. Something big."

Brendan stares at him as though the answer's obvious, and points down at his groin.

"This is big."

"Even bigger than that."

"Is that possible?"

Brendan's admonished for his cheek by having the sole of Steven's foot kick against his thigh.

"Alright, alright! I'll stop being -"

"Stupid?" Steven suggests, and Brendan can see that this is going to have to wait. That he's not going to get anywhere when it's clear that something's playing on Steven's mind.

He ignores the insult, and tries to stop the rising panic from flooding his senses. This is something that's meant to be a reward, a thank you.

"What is it?"

"I'm going to tell Amy. About this."

He feels a wave of anxiety hit him, and is relieved that he's lying down. He's seen the fragility of Amy, and can't imagine that someone so meek and young could possibly accept the idea of the father of her children being with _him_. Brendan knows how he looks to the outside world, knows how the tattoos and build and strength of him do nothing to change peoples views of him as dangerous, trouble.

"Do you think that's sensible?" Everything in his voice betrays that he thinks it's the opposite; risky and thoughtless, the consequences potentially damaging.

He can see Steven's own self belief take a knock, the question not being what he expected. He so desperately wants to cling onto the normality of Brendan, the fact that they're not doing anything wrong here. He isn't seeing how this looks on paper, how they're the last people in the world who should be together.

If Amy's anything like Eileen then she won't want to expose her children to someone like him. Even phone calls or letter from Steven once he's released will feel tainted. Brendan can already imagine what she thinks, that she'll worry that he's involved with people who could hurt Steven, hurt their family.

He can't guarantee that she'll never receive a visit from Warren's friends on the outside if he makes it known that Steven's a permanent part of his life.

Steven's experienced more in his twenty three years then most people have in eighty, but he's still naive. Still wonderfully, beautifully naive, and it shows when he nods eagerly, trying to convince himself as much as Brendan that this can work.

"I need to tell her, don't I?"

"Why?" Brendan's default position is being secretive, of revealing the bare minimum to get by. It's alien to him that Steven wants to share something this important with a woman who he once shared his bed with.

"Because she needs to know how it's going to be when I get out!"

It's one of the only times that Steven's mentioned his release, and it looms over them, too real now to ignore. While it was unspoken Brendan could pretend that it didn't exist, but Steven's just stripped away his ability to stay in denial.

"And how is it going to be?" He asks, very quietly. He doesn't think he deserves to hope that Steven envisages something beyond these gates, something that they can create together, and watch grow and develop.

A relationship.

"You know..." Steven shrugs, as though Brendan should already understand. That this is something they've talked about, and planned for, when in reality Brendan's never felt so unprepared for anything in his life.

There's no guide book to follow, especially when this was the last thing he expected when he first saw Steven, when he imagined him to be all looks and no substance. Someone easily replaceable, who wouldn't get under his skin and carve a place there.

"I'm going to be visiting you, talking on the phone to you."

Brendan can't believe how casual the boy's being about this. As though it's normal to have the person you love in prison, and the only interaction you have with them is when you're surrounded by police officers and other inmates.

He wants more for Steven. Better.

"She's going to need to know who I'm speaking to, isn't she? Amy knows I don't exactly have a lot of mates. She's not an idiot."

"What are you going to do, tell her it's your jailbird?" Brendan says dryly, imagining how that scenario would play out.

"No, I'm going to tell her it's _you_." As though there's a difference, a world apart between the two titles.

"She won't like me," Brendan warns, thinks the boy ought to know that he triggers an immediate dislike in some people, if his interactions with the men in here haven't already taught him that.

"Of course she will!" Steven looks at him as though he's the daft one. "Maybe tone down the swearing and the dirty looks, but apart from that she'll love you!"

Brendan laughs, can't help himself.

"What do you see happening, Steven? You, me and your ex missus sitting around the sofa, her making me tea?"

"Why not? Makes dead good tea, does our Amy."

"I think you're missing the point."

"Yeah, and we're going to miss visitor's hour if you don't hurry up and get off the bed. Don't you want to see your Cheryl and tell her all about therapy?"

"Jesus, you don't think I'm going to tell her about that, do you?" He can imagine her reaction already - the overbearing joy, and her belief that once the therapist knows about how happy Brendan's childhood was, they're bound to be a witness in his appeal.

"Fine, you don't have to tell her. But just come on, I don't want to miss this."

Brendan rises from the bed, holding Steven back by the material of his hoodie before he can make his way from the room.

"You're not really going to tell her, are you?" He'd seen how Steven was when Amy wouldn't let him see the kids, and when her frostiness had been between them like an impenetrable wall. He can't watch him go through that again.

"Before I met you I didn't even know who I was, but I do now. And that's thanks to you."

He's shocked by the sincerity of the boy's words. He can't bear to accept gratitude for making anyone fall in love with him. Steven should realise how it's a curse, not a blessing.

"You shouldn't be thanking me."

"Brendan, do you know how confused I was before? About whether I wanted Rae, or all those other guys."

Brendan's jaw tenses at his words, trying to remove the images that are flickering through his mind like a motion picture. He reminds himself that Steven's here now, with him. He's all his.

"But now I know what I want. Who I want."

It's hard to question that amount of conviction.

"You're a good man, Steven Hay."

Steven grins, his nose crinkling like it does when he's trying to concentrate. "Where did that come from?"

He doesn't know, but it feels right. Something he had to tell him, because he has the lingering doubt that anyone else ever has.

"You too, you know," Steven adds when Brendan doesn't speak. "Better than you think."

All Brendan can do is hum, can't say anything because he doesn't _feel_ good, but he still has some pride intact, and he can't allow the boy to see how weak he is. How the thing that he questions the most is his own faith in himself.

"And it's proper sexy when you say my full name."

"Oh really?" Brendan says, eyebrows raised. Perhaps this morning can be salvaged after all.

"Yeah," Steven replies, eyes dark and hands reaching forward to grip Brendan's shirt.

"_Steven Hay_," he whispers into the boy's ear, and feels a shudder of desire go through him, his hold on Brendan tightening as he steers him towards the bed.

"I thought you said we had to go?" Brendan reminds him teasingly, although he's already beginning to paw Steven's clothes off, his hands searching for bare skin. He's been wanting to do this for hours.

"We have a couple of minutes."

It doesn't feel nearly long enough, not for what he wants to do to the boy. But he's a master at making the most out of a situation, and he intends for them to both come before they leave the room.

"Couple of minutes, eh? I wonder what I can do to you in that time..." He lands on his back on the sheet, Steven scrambling on top of him, his hands reaching for the flies of Brendan's suit.

"Oi, watch it," Brendan warns when Steven begins to roughly undo his shirt. "This wasn't cheap."

His heart's not in it though. He'd gladly see the suit lying in a heap on the floor and

covered in dust if it meant he'd get to see Steven naked in front of him again.

The boy's more careful now though, gradually unfastening him until his chest peeks through and his tongue laps against his skin, biting at his nipples until they become red and bear the brunt of Steven's touch.

He doesn't fully remove his shirt though, or his trousers, and when Brendan makes a move to, the boy pins his hands onto the bed, fully seated on his lap now, grinding against him through cotton.

"I've always wanted to fuck a man in a suit," he says, glint of mischievousness in his eyes.

Kinky fucker.

Brendan leans back on his elbows willingly, and gestures to his body.

"Be my guest."


	26. Chapter 26

He doesn't know where to start, what to enjoy first. There's almost _too_ much, too much muscle and hair and sheer masculinity spread out before him for him to use to his will.

He doesn't think he'll ever get used to the feeling, the knowledge that this is all his to explore. He wishes he had time to luxuriate over it, to slowly trace his lips over Brendan's, to ride him slowly and exquisitely, to make this try to last, but he has a visit from Amy in less than fifteen minutes, and he knows he'll have to make this quick.

Ste reluctantly shifts from the bed to search through his drawers to find a condom. He'd kept some back from the stash that Brendan had stolen from Walker for exactly this purpose, knowing that with Brendan in his life this situation was bound to arise sooner or later.

He never plans these things, never expects that he won't be able to stop himself, that one moment he'll be telling him they don't have enough time, and the next second he'll be pinning Brendan to the bed, cock growing harder in anticipation.

"Hurry up," Brendan says, still fully suited, his shirt creased and roughly pushed up from where Ste's hands had wandered.

He'd usually make a dig about the man's bossiness, but he feels as desperate for this as he is, and he swears when he has to hunt through several drawers to find a condom, tearing one open frantically when his hand eventually settles around the wrapper.

Ste slings himself onto the bed so hard that it bounces, the springs already weakened through time and wear. Brendan laughs as they both jump the tiniest bit from the mattress, but his face becomes serious when Ste slides the condom onto his cock, already erect despite him having not even touched it.

He slicks his fingers with his warm spit and places them behind himself, digits entering him and hitting against his prostate. He focuses on Brendan's eyes, sees how the man's drinking all of this in, every flicker of Ste's eyelashes and every breath from his chest, his head cocked to the side as though the boy's the most fascinating thing he's ever seen.

Soon Ste can't look, can't concentrate on anything other than what he's doing to himself, and his head grows heavy and slack, falling forward the slightest amount, his eyes closing sluggishly. He removes his fingers and wets them further, and when they slide in again he feels loose, and they move up into him easily, stretching his hole out, because God knows he needs to when he's about to have Brendan entering him.

He can hear himself, impossibly loud noises that sound primal, broken cries that could be ecstasy, could be pain, but are ripped from his insides either way. He wants to start stroking himself, wants to add to the pressure already building up inside him, but before he can reach forwards he feels a hand secure around his cock, and he jerks from the sensation.

Brendan calls him _good boy_, calls him _beautiful_ and _sexy _and _fucking amazing, Steven, _and all he can do is lap it up like it's his oxygen and his sun, the attention and the onslaught on his body making him quiver and shake.

When he feels ready he gradually removes his fingers, the action making him keen high in his throat. He strips off his jogging bottoms, hoodie and t-shirt, registering the way that Brendan's eyes roam over his naked skin, and for one of the first times in his life he feels like someone worth looking at. He feels everything that Brendan wants him to feel - special. Special to him.

He wasn't lying when he said he'd always wanted to do this before. The idea of fucking someone completely clothed while he's naked makes his blood sing, especially when the person's Brendan and he looks like he does, so powerful and commanding, so gorgeous that it makes his cock twitch.

The Irishman's trousers are still barely rolled down, shrugged off him just enough so that Ste can see his dick and the vast scattering of pubic hair.

"Are you going to keep staring at me like that, or are you going to get on? Either one's good, but..." Brendan points to his watch, tapping against it. "Tick tock."

"Did I say you could move your hands?" Ste breaths, his own moving to Brendan's once more, and ensuring that they're resting on the bed, their fingers interlinked together.

"Oh, that's how you want to play it, is it?"

He's not sure if he can even attempt to pull this off, if Brendan will let him. Ste assesses his reaction, seeing if there's any hesitation or discomfort there, but he only sees trust, and something that looks a lot like love. His hold on the man increases. Power play, only the role's have been reversed, and he's the one in charge here.

"Mmmm," Ste hums low in his throat, and positions himself.

He'd been thorough in his preparation and he slides onto the man effortlessly now, the sting bearable and barely leaving its mark on him. He's full of Brendan's cock, so deliciously full that he has to take a second and brace himself, his hands clawing at the man's chest, shifting back his hips until he's seated more comfortably.

He can hear Brendan muttering, the familiar _Jesus_ escaping from his lips, and a groan that he's sure is reserved only for him. He's lying flat on his back now, and abdicating control so gloriously that Ste feels a sense of pride wash over him. He knows that this can't be easy, that Brendan has to fight the urge to continually lead here, to take the power back.

He doesn't even move his hips, just waits as Ste angles himself and starts to grind, using his hold on the man to give him leverage. With every thrust he can feel the head of Brendan's cock rubbing against him, and it builds up a feeling that's so intense that he's sure that he didn't live at all until he came here and met this man. He had no idea that sex could be like this.

He reaches for his cock but Brendan murmurs for him not to, and Ste stares at him curiously, his hand in mid air while he waits for the man's direction.

"I want to make you come just from this," Brendan whispers. "No hands anymore."

Ste's eyes widen at what feels like an impossible task, protests ready to roll off his tongue. It's not that he doesn't think he's capable. He's come hands free before, but the finality about _anymore_ makes him feel nervous. Another first with this man, another thing to learn, to have control over muscles which he didn't even know existed before he met Brendan.

His instinct has always been to start jerking off when he's close, but now he nods, accepting the challenge.

As a distraction from touching himself he stares up at the ceiling, at the peeling paint and the stains from chewing gum being thrown there throughout the years. He knows that it's the same view that Brendan's had for so long now, and wonders if the only thing that made it more bearable was having men like Vinnie and Simon in his bed. It's still an itch he has to resist scratching, a craving to ask where and when and how, _how_ Brendan came to be with these men, and why he's any different. Why he's the one who Brendan cares about.

With every rotation of his hips the nagging worries in his mind are numbed. Brendan's sitting up in the bed now, his chest almost pressing against Ste's, his hand on his face and stroking against his cheeks as though in acknowledgement that he lost him for a few seconds. He's trying to pull him back towards him, trying to bury whatever fear is ripping and gnawing at him, and it works.

He lets out an elongated sigh which sounds like a purr, and concentrates everything on building up an orgasm inside himself, far removed from his hands wrapping around his cock and bringing him off.

He can't believe Brendan's asked him to do this now of all times; now when Amy's sitting in the waiting room ready to be called by the officers, and he's been denied coming because the bastard he's riding is cruel and loves inventing ways to make this even more achingly sweet, the right side of painful.

They kiss, sloppy and spit licked, lips ghosting together lazily, Ste wetting Brendan's lips with a hint of his tongue fluttering against them. He coils it downwards, brushing it over the lightest hint of stubble covering his chin and upwards again, flickering across the razor sharp hairs of his moustache, over the corners and eventually settling on the middle, laying delicate kisses while he fucks himself on Brendan's cock, as far and as deep as he can get it inside him.

He needs more though, more friction and more of _Brendan_, and he releases a guttural and breathless command for him to move his hips and thrust into him from below, adds a _please_ for good measure because Brendan's always determined to make him work for what he wants.

The older man laughs, lapping at the tender skin on Ste's shoulders, raw and wounded from the bites that he's left there over recent days. Ste can see Brendan's legs moving in the bed, and _fuck_ he loves them, loves how their skinniness is deceptive, is hiding a solidity and muscularity that makes Ste hurt in all the places he wants to hurt, especially now when he's using them to support himself while he moves his dick into Ste's heat, his cock hammering into him and pressing against his inner tissues again and again. It's so fucking relentless, the man so determined to make him come.

He's _so_ close, so close to spilling over his stomach, hasn't even had to touch his dick and he's already there but Brendan disarms him again, always making this that little bit more of a challenge, and he rolls Ste off from him before he even has time to feel the first shudder of his orgasm. He expects the man to lie him on his back, knows that he always loves to come when he's facing him, when he's staring at him from above like some fucking power trip.

But when he has his back against the mattress Brendan rolls him onto his side and slides his cock back into him from behind, his chest damp and solid against him as he presses himself against Ste's spine, joining their bodies together and moving in a rhythm, building up that delicious erotic tension in him again.

He's never tried this position with anyone and the intimacy startles him. He can't see Brendan but he can feel everything, feel his balls smacking into his arse and his arms wrap around him and tickling his stomach, lips against his neck and words murmured into his ear, _feels so fucking good_, _come for me,_ but Ste wants to prolong this now, wants to stay like this forever.

He's milking Brendan's cock, arse grinding back and letting out sighs that would embarrass another person, but not him. It's something that binds them, connects him to Brendan, because no one's ever heard him like this before. He's slept with a lot of men, but right here, right now, this could be the only. The last.

Brendan's kissing down his back as he moves in him, his lips hot and soft. Ste takes the arm that's around him and returns in kind, laying desperate and rough kisses against it, over the knuckles and across the palm and on top of the juddering pulse, aware that it's moving erratically just for him.

Their legs are entangled together, toes curling and thighs clenched from their conjoined movements. The belt from Brendan's trousers is hitting against Ste's legs and he groans urgently for him to take it off. The pummeling doesn't cease whilst he hears the sound of it being removed and carelessly thrown onto the floor. Brendan has one arm wrapped close to his stomach, and Ste's sure that he's going to come over the sleeve of his suit if he doesn't remove it.

He tries to lift it higher but Brendan won't let him.

"I'm going to -"

"I don't care," he says, voice a spark that sends shivers down Ste's spine. It's enough, enough to make his inner muscles clench and to spill over his stomach without even touching his dick.

He's barely managed to recover before Brendan rolls him onto the pillow, his cheek pressed against it. He clutches it in his palm, his knuckles turning white as Brendan drives his cock into him, hands clawing at Ste's back and digging into the flesh there.

The head of Ste's cock feels tender, feels sensitive and almost sore when he rubs against the mattress from Brendan's ministrations. He's crying out, sounds so unlike himself that he's sure a stranger is making these wild, abandoned noises. Brendan's mouth has replaced his hands now and he's biting into his skin, and there's no part of Ste which is left pure, unmarked by Brendan's body.

He feels Brendan ejaculate, hears the noises that are ripped from him, but it's hazy. He's vaguely aware of the man moving off from on top of him, and looks to the side to watch what he's doing. He sees him hike his trousers up, sees the damp spots on his white shirt from where they've both sweated. Brendan bins the condom, his cheeks flushed, his lips rubbed raw.

He looks at the stain on his jacket in the mirror, and when he turns towards Ste he's grinning.

"Look what you did to me, you little fucker."

"I did warn you," Ste mumbles, his eyes shutting. He's close to falling asleep, feels so fucking sated that he's sure he's smiling against the pillow.

"What do you think you're doing?" Brendan asks, amusement in his voice.

"Give me a minute." He reaches out an arm tonelessly, motioning for Brendan to join him in bed. He wants to be wrapped up in his warmth and then when they're ready, they can start all over again. Brendan's lips wrapped around his cock, Ste's tongue exploring his hole...

He's giggling now. He feels drunk.

"Steven, are you forgetting that pretty little blonde you've got waiting for you?"

He opens his eyes, his vision clouded. He's never felt so tired in his life than after he has sex with Brendan. He wasn't this bad even when his own child was born.

"Stop getting at me and come for a sleep and a shag, won't you?"

Ste feels a hand swatting at his arse, and he swears and gingerly rubs a palm over the redness coming to the surface.

"Bastard," he scolds, rolling over and offering Brendan his best insulted glare.

"Tell that to your cock."

Ste looks down at it, already hard in the time it took for Brendan to come.

"Like it rough do you, Steven?" He's so fucking arrogant, so fucking _gorgeous_.

"Maybe you can come over here and find out," Ste challenges, spreading his legs.

Brendan mirrors Ste's earlier action, offering his hand out. Ste sighs, knowing that he has to leave this room, and he wants to see Amy, he _does_, but it's difficult when there's something so tempting on offer to distract him.

He also can't help but be disappointed that his plan to entice has failed spectacularly.

"You pouting?" Brendan asks, cutting through his thoughts as Ste begins to get dressed.

"No," he says, sounding to his own ears a lot like a petulant teenager being told to tidy their bedroom.

"Come on, I know you are."

He says nothing, just throws his tracksuit bottoms on and tries not to show how he's hobbling slightly, how he thinks his arse will be sore for days. He doesn't want Brendan's ego to become even more inflated.

"Are you angry because I didn't fuck you again, Steven?"

"Leave it out. As if."

"You look fucking hot when you're mad at me."

He turns to face the man at that, watching while Brendan dabs at his sleeve in the sink. The stain seems to go on and on, an obscene testament to how hard he came and how much it's impossible to not want Brendan.

There's something satisfying about watching Brendan brush away at it, and he averts his eyes, sure he shouldn't have _this_ much of a thrill.

"Once we get back to the cell..." It sounds like a promise, Brendan staring at Ste's open chest before the skin is covered by his now crumpled t-shirt.

Ste wants to make a witty retort, _like I even care_, but it's embarrassing how much he does care. He can't pretend to not want this, not when he's worn his heart on his sleeve, not when he's told Brendan he loves him, not once, not enough for it to be a slip of the tongue, a mistake.

He's said it enough times for the man to know it's real, and instead of a customary roll of his eyes he gives Brendan a wink, the Irishman rolling a stick of gum around in his mouth as though he'd much prefer for it to be Ste's cock.

"How do I look?" Brendan asks, hands gesturing to his body. He's undeniably less presented and ordered than before, his hair sticking up in tufts, the colour of his jacket darkened in areas where the water's still drying.

"You're Brendan Brady," Ste replies with a shrug, as though that settles it. For him it does. Brendan Brady, in no matter what state, is someone who people listen to. Who people want to be. Who people want to fuck.

"What does that mean?" Brendan asks, playful and light, but Ste thinks he really doesn't know.

He steps towards the man, smoothing his hair back to make it less obvious what's just gone on here.

"You look good, Brendan." He wants to say perfect, but Ste doesn't think he'd have fallen in love with perfect. It's everything that goes along with Brendan, the insecurity and the fear and the fact that he doesn't always get it right.

He's in danger of telling Brendan all of this, of revealing every single sentimental thought that's etched under his skin. He's relieved when Brendan breaks the atmosphere that's settled by making a grab for one of Ste's stray trainers that managed to escape when he had hastily undressed, and they laugh as Ste tries to put it on whilst standing on one foot, only managing not to fall when he has to lean against the older man for support.

He feels anticipation building inside of him as they line up alongside the other men. He's barely even been aware of what's happened in his recent visits with Amy. He'd been too consumed by everything that was happening, by Brendan sitting mere inches away from him with Cheryl, pointedly ignoring him, his body facing away. He'd wanted to confront him a million times, had longed to dissolve the space between them and make things the way they used to be, but he felt powerless.

Amy had been forced to shake him and ask if he was okay, had stared at him with concern, and he'd hardly even been able to summon up the strength to ask about Leah and Lucas anymore. Everything he'd once cared about had slipped away.

When he sees her now, he takes everything in. The tiredness under her eyes from living a life of a single parent for the past few months. The tentative smile, as though she's assessing his reaction. The way that she pulls him closer towards her when he hugs her, and he can hear her let out a breath.

"I was so worried about you."

He releases her when he sees the officers looking at them in warning, and sits down.

"Why?" He asks. He'd been so immune to his own behaviour that he can't begin to see what he must have looked like, how he must have acted.

"You were so...distant. Like you weren't even here at all."

He glances over at Brendan, deep in conversation with Cheryl. He hopes that he doesn't hear this, doesn't want him to feel even more guilty for the weeks of silence. He doesn't have to punish Brendan, to remind him of the state he left him in. Brendan's doing that for him. Sometimes when he looks at him it's as though he still expects him to leave, to abandon him like everyone else.

"I was scared to ask you what was wrong, Ste."

He winces at the word, _scared_. He never wants Amy to be frightened in relation to him ever again, never walks her to walk on eggshells or tiptoe around him like he's going to fall apart, with her as a casualty.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles, ashamed of his own actions.

He thinks about how he risked it all, how he brought the moonshine from Simon without even thinking of the consequences. It could have been poison. He could have left Amy without a best friend. The kids without a father. At the very least he could have been caught, and spent even more time away from them. A disgrace to his family.

He tries to find some possible explanation.

"I was just going through a bad time. You know, being stuck in here."

"I'm just glad you're better. You've put some of that weight back on. Still chickeny, but..."

He smiles, thinking of one of Brendan's past comments. _Those little chicken arms of yours_.

"How are the kids?" He's desperate to find out about them now. He's terrified that he's started to forget their faces already, missed their milestones, their accomplishments. Everyday that passes is another day that he doesn't get to watch them grow up, have the chances that he never had, become the people that he didn't get to be.

"They miss you."

"What have you told them? About where I am?"

They've never discussed this before. Amy's anger after the sentencing had made him wary of asking questions, of pushing her beyond her limits. Every time he's spoken to Leah and Lucas on the phone they've told him about school, about their friends and their lives, but never drawn attention to the fact that their father could be a million miles away.

They seem so certain that he _will_ come back. It makes Ste smile, that they have that much belief and conviction in him. He spent his own childhood thinking that every time Pauline went out he'd never see her again. That he'd get a call from the police telling him that they'd found his mother lying dead in a ditch, a trail of alcohol being the only thing that alerted anyone to her whereabouts.

Amy looks at him sheepishly, nibbling at her lower lip. "I told them that you're in Benidorm."

Ste's splutters make several of the other prisoners look in their direction, Silas staring at him disapprovingly, Doug mouthing_ you okay, dude?_ and Brendan looking directly at his crotch as thought that's the only thing that holds his attention.

"Benidorm? Why Benidorm?"

"I don't know, it's the first thing I could think of!"

"Great, so you just imagined me in one of the tackiest places on earth. What am I meant to be doing there for three months, lying on a sun lounger and drinking cocktails in my speedos?"

"I always thought you were a trunks guy, actually."

"Amy!" He scolds, but there's no maliciousness there. He'd rather his kids imagining him holidaying in some cheap resort rather than being locked up for shoplifting. "I'm going to have to douse myself in fan take now, aren't I?"

"Ste, they're children. They're not detectives."

"Yeah, you say that but our Leah's proper smart, isn't she?" He's sure her intelligence comes from Amy, although she's definitely learnt her stubbornness from him.

It's so easy like this, laughing and earning her trust back, piece by piece. He almost forgets what he's promised himself and Brendan that he'll tell her. Everything he'd planned in his head is uncertain now. He knows who he _wants_ to be, knows who he _is_, but it's simpler in here when there are complete strangers, when he doesn't have to look a girl he's known for years in the eye and tell her the truth.

"Ames, I've got something I need to say." He prays that she doesn't interrupt him, otherwise he doesn't think he'll ever be able to finish. He's already making excuses, already planning a way out of this, a way to leave it till another day, telling himself that there's no urgency, there's no real reason he should tell her at all.

It's only the sight of Brendan present in the room with him that gives him any courage at all.

He's grateful when Amy doesn't speak. She regards him with a frown, leaning back in her chair and expecting him to start talking, as though there's a beginning to this. As though he knows how it all started.

"Recently I've had these..." He stumbles, wondering how he can possibly phrase this. "Feelings. Feelings for..." His mouth wants to resist the word, because once it forms there's no taking it back. She'll know what he is, and he can't bear to see the judgement that might appear behind her eyes.

"Men." He croaks it out, and he can't _not_ look at her reaction. It feels self punishing when he knows how much it could hurt, when he may lose her forever because of this.

She doesn't even attempt to conceal the shock from her face, her lips parting. It answers Ste's question about whether she had any idea at all.

"Men?" She echos back at him, and he can't read anything in her voice but disbelief, can't tell if she's disgusted or accepting. It's a start, he thinks, that she seems neither upset nor angry, although he wonders if she's numb to it, and it's lurking underneath the exterior and waiting to be revealed.

He nods, moistening his dry lips.

"Are you saying you're bisexual?"

He knew the questions would start, but he's said it now. Nothing can feel as difficult as those first initial words, and he's already beginning to feel the first waves of relief wash over him.

He knows it would be easy, his get out clause in so many ways to say _yes_, but he wants to be fearless like Brendan. If he can go to a therapist and sit in a room for fifty minutes and admit he has a problem, then Ste's sure he can do anything. He owes him this.

"No," he says, preparing himself to say what's been building up inside of him ever since Brendan walked into his life. "I'm gay."

"But Ste..." Amy's speaking in hushed whispers now, and he wonders if she's ashamed of him. If this is something she thinks he should hide from everyone else in here.

He can see her concern if that's what it is. He never thought being gay would make him protected in prison, but being with Brendan makes him respected, makes him someone who no one touches unless they want to be killed. The thought scares him, and thrills him.

"You and Rae - you were together just before you came in here. And you and me..."

He can see the way her mind's working. The doubts that are forming there. Wondering if he ever wanted her. Thinking about the children that they have together. Whether it was all based on lies to begin with.

"I did fancy you." He's not being dishonest. "And you know, when we..." He raises his eyebrows, insinuating, "I did enjoy it."

"But I don't understand how you could if you're gay." She's not attacking him, her tone still calm and measured. He can see she just desperately wants to understand this.

He wants to understand too.

"I liked sex with girls, Amy. But I met this guy, see, and he changed everything." It sounds insubstantial, not even beginning to explain the impact that Brendan's had on his life.

He feels like he's said the wrong thing, because Amy's shock only increases.

"Wait, you mean - have you had sex with a man?"

Ste covers his arms over his face, flushing.

"Ste!" It sounds like she's squealing. "This is massive!"

He giggles, the sound muffled by his arms, unable to resist the obvious joke. He's sure that Brendan's smug right about now, without even being able to hear them.

"Come on, stop that!" Amy bats his hands away, and he's sure he's crimson when he faces her again. It feels too surreal, talking about his sex life with _her_. He still remembers being a teenager and waiting till her dad had left the house, sneaking in so they could be alone together, a packet of condoms in his pocket, a bulge in his pants and a grin on his lips.

"I can't believe you didn't tell me this. Give me all the details."

He can't believe how okay she's being about all of this.

"You really want to know?" He asks, crinkling his nose. He can't say he'd be comfortable knowing about the men Amy's had in her bed.

"Yes! You can't just drop something like that on me and not tell me. I thought you were talking about some kind of crush on Zac Efron, not actually dipping your toe in the water."

"First of all, Zac Efron? What do you take me for? And second..." He looks down, biting his lip. "I've dipped more than my toe."

She claps her hands together excitedly like a performing seal, and he meets Brendan's eyes from across the room, seeing that he's not the only one who's relieved by this display, by how normal this looks. No scene. No big storm out or drama.

She seems _happy_ for him.

"So what have you done?" She asks conspiratorially, as though they've been doing this for years and he's her gay best friend. He realises with a certain amount of surprise that technically, he is.

"Everything," he admits, and he realises how most of that _everything_ consists of these last few months in here. The things he's learnt. The barriers he's crossed.

"Did you actually have _that_ up you?" She ask in awe.

"And what are you, the virgin Mary? It wouldn't be much fun if I hadn't," he says, chuffing a laugh. He feels giddy with the way she's staring at him, like she's truly seeing him for the first time and she _likes_ what she sees. Loves it. Loves him.

"Didn't it hurt?"

With Brendan it never hurts, and he doesn't know how that's possible when he's so large. Sometimes he looks at him and can't understand how he can fit his cock inside him, but every time he makes it feel good, makes Ste so ready for it that he almost cries out for relief.

It hasn't always been like that. There have been men who haven't taken their time, who have rushed and not cared about his own feelings or needs, and his hole had felt tender and sore for days afterwards.

He winces at the memory.

"Ste?" Amy prompts.

"Sometimes. But when you find someone who loves you it all falls away, doesn't it?"

And it starts hurting in other ways.

Amy's lips quirk with a playful smile. "Who is this man who loves you?"

"No one," Ste says quickly. "I just mean...you know, if there was." He hopes there will be, one day.

"I still can't believe this. Have I known anyone who you've been with?"

He shakes his head. The kind of men he's slept with haven't been from around Chester. He's always done that on purpose, going out of his way to make them anonymous, mere strangers who he'll never see again. He told himself it was better that way.

"But how could you have hidden your boyfriends from me? Didn't they ever wonder why you didn't bring them back to ours?"

Ste shifts in his seat uncomfortably, knowing that there's still so much more to tell her. He doesn't think Amy will be pleased to know about the nights he's spent in clubs at the weekends, having one night stands and potentially putting himself at risk by assuming that the men he's with aren't animals who'll force him to do something he doesn't want to.

He tries to search for something that doesn't sound like an outright lie.

"I didn't really have boyfriends," he mumbles, thinking about how he still hasn't, not with everything with Brendan still being so undefined. "It was more just something casual."

He feels an unshakeable need to explain himself, to say something that'll make him feel less easy and degraded. Something that'll justify these encounters that left him feeling worthless and empty.

There was a buzz to it to begin with, and a momentary pleasure from the sex, but when he was left alone in a toilet with his trousers around his ankles, he'd longed for something that felt normal. Something domestic, although fuck knows he'd never realised before how much he'd wanted that.

He wanted a warm bed to fuck in. A warm body beside him, someone who would talk to him and listen to him. Someone who would care if he got home safely at night, and who would think about him even when they weren't together.

He hadn't wanted his first time to consist of being fucked in a tiny cubicle by a guy called Noah, whose hands had been rough and all over him, suffocating and stifling, shoving Ste against the door and yanking down his trousers, driving his cock into him before he'd even had time to adjust.

He hadn't wanted to have to walk home because he was too drunk to be allowed into a taxi, every bastard driver turning him down when he threw up onto the street outside the club. He hadn't wanted to stumble back to the flat in the dark, waking the kids and Amy and trying to reassure her that everything was okay, only to see drops of blood flush down the drain when he'd had a shower.

He hadn't wanted that. He'd wanted someone who would take care of him, who would make him feel desirable and valued. He'd wanted Brendan, the _idea_ of Brendan, before he'd even known who he was.

He wants to tell Amy that this is the man he's chosen. That there may be a million things wrong with him, but there are also a million things right. That when Brendan says he's going to look after him he _believes_ him. That there are probably people better suited to him out there, that would give him a future that didn't involve visits to a prison and timed phone calls, but that it pales in significance against everything that Brendan _can_ give him.

Ste longs to point at the Irishman and call him his boyfriend to Amy, whether it's true or not. He feels overcome by the need to tell her that this man gave him a chance in here when he had nothing, and made him feel safe when he had nobody. That Brendan taught him how to love. That he means everything.

But he knows that it doesn't matter what he says. Everything will become meaningless against Brendan's crime. Amy won't understand. He can see the way she's looking at the other men in here, the way that she doesn't view Ste as one of them. She thinks he's different, better. She'll hear the word murderer, without love to make her capable of forgiveness.

He was an idiot to think that he could try to convince anyone but himself that this is what he needs.

Ste's sure that wherever Seamus is now he's laughing at all of them for ruining his son's life, without him even being alive to do it for them.


	27. Chapter 27

"Why are you playing incy wincy spider against my back?"

Steven's hands still in their movements.

"I didn't say you could stop. I just asked why," Brendan mumbles sleepily, his eyes fighting for closure once more.

It's easy to feel too old for this with someone as insatiable as Steven. He's worn out.

"To say sorry," Steven says quietly, kissing against Brendan's neck.

"For what?" He's the one who should be apologising everyday that they're together. The past still weighs heavily on his mind, especially when he'd caught snatches of Steven's conversation with Amy.

_You were so distant. Like you weren't even here at all. _

_You've put some of that weight back on._

He'd caused the distance. He'd caused the boy to stop eating. And he doesn't know how to make it better, if it's even something that will ever completely heal in time.

"For the scratches," Steven hums against his back, softly moving his fingers over it again, delicate and light movements that leave Brendan craving more contact.

His back's become a battlefield, a patchwork of red indents from Steven's fingers digging into him when he reaches climax, the boy gripping on for dear life, his hold tight and all encompassing. It's barely something that Brendan notices until afterwards, his pull on Steven's skin just as firm, just as desperate and full of need.

It's only when he looks in the mirror that he sees what the boy's done to him. Together their bodies have become mirror images of each other, not in size or stature but in the scars that line their skin, the bite marks that cover their thighs and buttocks.

"I'm trying to heal you," Steven continues, laying a kiss over the most prominent mark, making Brendan hiss from the soreness before the boy's lips soothe it, removing the pain.

He smiles at Steven's words, arching into the touch and sighing in contentment at the feel of him. The boy's leg is covering his own, poking out from underneath the cover and hanging over the bed. He can feel Steven's cock and balls pressing against him, one arm slung over him while the other resumes its movements down Brendan's back.

Brendan can't remember doing this before, can't remember enjoying someone's company to this extent. He could get used to this, to the lazy mornings, afternoons and evenings spent curled up in bed with Steven, dozing when they're not fucking. He'd made excuses to get Vincent and Macca out from his bed as soon as possible, unable to feel comfortable with the intimacy, of being so close to another man.

But he enjoys it with this boy. He actively finds excuses to seek him out, had pulled him into his cell the minute that visitor's hour was over, closing the door firmly on Ethan's face when he'd tried to come in. Steven had been far too clothed for Brendan's liking, and he'd wrangled him onto the bed, hurriedly ridding him of his tracksuit, planting a pillow under him so his arse was propped up, and going straight in with his tongue.

Steven's cries had been affirming and arousing. Brendan had removed his own clothes, lying down on the bed and rubbing his dick against the mattress in time with every flicker of his tongue in Steven's hole.

He'd growled when Steven had tried to touch his dick, _no hands remember_, and had smirked in satisfaction when the boy let out a high pitched whine, staring at him with frustration and irritation, but obeying his command.

He lapped at Steven's entrance until it was covered in his salvia and open to him, then maneuvered the boy until he was sitting in his lap, their chests pressed together, their lips close enough for them to kiss until Steven couldn't even concentrate on that anymore. The noises from his mouth surrounded the room, echoing around the walls until Brendan had to bite down on his shoulder to try and hold off his orgasm, otherwise he'd come from the sheer sound of Steven's lust filled shouts.

When he had disentangled himself from Steven's hold the boy had stared at him in shock, his eyes blown wide and his cock pointing skyward. Brendan had got off the bed, had walked backwards towards the wall, his eyes never leaving the boy's.

"Get dressed, Steven."

The boy's frown only grew more prominent. Brendan's confidence in his plan was shaken when he realised that Steven looked hesitant, worried that he'd done something wrong.

"Change of scenery," he said as way of an explanation. He'd wanted to do this for a long time, and he couldn't resist putting in into action now. He'd put on his trousers, not bothering with a shirt, instead covering half of his chest by slinging a towel over his shoulder.

Steven had made a show of it, had huffed and grumbled the entire time that he was getting dressed, hands rubbing against his groin, a fuck you to Brendan's rules, and the Irishman had leaned against the wall watching him, laughing in delight at his annoyance.

"This better be good," the boy warned, and Brendan resisted the urge to ask Steven if it had ever been anything else, knowing that he was already testing his patience.

They'd found Ethan pacing the corridors outside. The colour in his cheeks that had returned since Warren's absence had gone, replaced by his previous ashen appearance. Brendan felt a sting of guilt for exiling him from the room, knowing that it was one of the only places where Ethan felt safe. He carried the threat of Warren's eventual return wherever he went, and Brendan had seen him looking over his shoulder in recent days, as though frantically checking if Warren was behind him, waiting to get him alone and resume their previous agreement.

Ethan had rushed into the cell as soon as he was sure that Brendan and Steven were no longer using it, slamming the door in their faces and continuing to walk up and down inside the room, a nervous energy to his movements.

Steven had stared at him anxiously. "Maybe we should..."

"There's nothing we can do for him." He knew he sounded heartless, but no words of comfort or false promises would ease the dread and panic in Ethan's mind. The anticipation was plaguing the man day and night, the thoughts of what Warren could do to him worse than the reality. Worse because Brendan was sure that Ethan wasn't the one who was going to be in danger. He wouldn't be his target, and it caused Brendan to steer Steven towards the bathroom, wanting to remain close to him at all times.

Ethan hadn't been the only one who'd had nightmares of Warren's return. Every night that he'd had to sleep without Steven he'd seen the face of two men, and didn't know which figure was more terrifying to him. Seamus couldn't hurt him anymore, but the memory of him was vivid, was strong enough to transport him to all those years ago and leave him feeling like that helpless eight year old, left shaking and bleeding in his bed, a part of him feeling broken and irreversibly damaged.

But Warren was a present threat, was alive and more than capable of hurting Steven.

He was sure that he could survive anything as long as Steven was safe, and it was the sight of Warren locking the boy away in a room where he couldn't reach him that had Brendan waking up in sweat stained sheets, his heart pounding and the threat of tears in his eyes.

Fear was seeping into his actions. He kept Steven deliberately beside him the whole time, his eyes barely leaving the boy as Brendan opened the door to the showers and began unbuttoning his pants. It was quiet at this time of day, most people showering in the morning or evening.

Steven shrugged his clothes off again but it was too torturously slow, like a deliberate strip tease. He knew what he was doing, and the look he gave Brendan was confrontational, was intended to provoke and make him restless, his agitation growing from the boy's slow pace.

He gave up any semblance of calm when he could see the outline of Steven's erect cock through his tracksuit bottoms. He was naked now and pushed Steven into a shower cubicle. He locked the door, his fingers immediately reaching for the top of the boy's trousers and removing them in one frenzied action.

Steven wasn't wearing any underwear.

Brendan groaned and took the boy's balls in his palm, fingering the loose sack and watching as Steven leaned forward and attached his lips to Brendan's throat, his teeth nibbling and biting at the exposed skin.

He slicked two fingers up and inserted them into Steven, the pressure and rub of them making the boy shudder in his arms.

"Before was _nothing_," Brendan whispered, his own words hardly making sense to him, torn from him by his desire at seeing Steven writhe and reach for Brendan's cock between their colliding bodies, stroking him with the harshest intensity. "I'm going to make you come so hard you'll be begging me to stop."

Steven laughed, low and heady and disbelieving. "Stop? Never." He backed Brendan against the tiles and turned on the shower with one swift motion, the water cascading down their backs, wetting their hair while they kissed.

Brendan had grabbed the shower head and sprayed it directly at Steven, laughing when the boy spluttered and yelped at him to cut it out, his long dark lashes more pronounced from the droplets of water running down them, his golden velvet skin growing even warmer from the heat and steam that was filling the cubicle.

"Ask nicely," he teased, not an inch of space between them, toying with the boy by moving his mouth closer as if to kiss him, then denying him his lips at the last second.

"What will you do to me if I do?"

Brendan's tongue peeked out from between his lips. "I'll rim you."

He was sure that he could hear Steven's breathing quickening.

"And if I don't?"

"I'll rim you."

The boy grinned, turning around boldly against the tiles, his face to the side and pressed against them. He reached out behind himself with his arms, spreading the cheeks of his arse open with his hands, exposing his entrance to Brendan, his hole puckered and covered by the hair that Brendan had been dreaming about seeing wet for weeks now.

It was an invitation.

"Go on then."

It was difficult to believe that Steven had never done this before he entered prison. That he hadn't even heard the expression.

Brendan moved the shower head over him, down the boy's back and over his arse. Steven waited patiently, something that was almost uncharacteristic of him. He didn't make any move to stroke his dick, and Brendan knew that he was remembering his earlier challenge of coming from Brendan being inside him alone.

He positioned the water lower, spilling it over Steven's hole, and he felt the boy consciously relax, his arse leaning back even further towards him. A power bottom if ever he saw one.

Once he was thoroughly wet he turned off the water. He felt Steven tense again at what he was about to do. Steven loved having his hole played with, but he could feel it build up in the boy's body beforehand, his need to have Brendan in him and all around him, and knowing that the man loved nothing more than to prolong his pleasure till the last moment, making him desperate enough to plead for it.

"Relax." He lay coaxing kisses down the boy's spine, and he felt Steven's hands grow slack against his arse, instead moving to stroke Brendan's damp hair.

"No," he crooned, repositioning Steven so that his hole was on display to him again. "Stay like that. Just like that."

Steven spread his cheeks wider, mumbling _fuck_ against the tiles as Brendan began to lick around the boy's entrance, circling over the hair that covered it.

The texture of Steven's hair against his tongue had been delicious, and he'd spent longer than he usually did on the area around the boy's hole, driving Steven crazy by lapping at the surface instead of going inside. He was captivated by it, the way that Steven was so smooth, his arse hairless except in this particular spot. He was the sheer definition of a twink in other ways - his slender frame, his boyish looks, his young age - but one look at the hair that covered his groin and legs, and he could have been the most masculine person Brendan had ever met.

He'd tested Steven's capacity to be toyed with beyond his limits. Before he'd put a stop to his teasing and gentle exploration, Steven had turned around, dislodging him and sinking to the floor of the cubicle. Brendan's mind had immediately gone straight to envisaging the boy reaching for his cock. This thought and the shower already becoming like a sauna, hot and damp, was making him feel hazy, his mind overclouded by the smell and the sight and the feel of sex. Of Steven.

Steven didn't make a move to touch him though, and leaned back against the tiles, staring at Brendan through his lashes, skin reddened and almost glowing from the heat.

He reached his hand lower.

"I told you -" Brendan interjected, not wanting the boy to make himself come before he was inside him. He knew that the pleasure would be more heightened if they waited. Fucking Steven after he'd already orgasmed held its own kind of joy and fascination, but his body became more toneless, his movements around Brendan's cock not as controlled and skilled, too overwhelmed by the post coital state that wracked through his body.

"You said not to stroke my cock," the boy retorted back, an edge of dominance and command peppering his voice. "You didn't say I couldn't do this."

Steven had brought his knees up as though to hug them to his chest, spreading them slightly to part the cheeks of his arse without having to separate them with his hands like before.

He sighed as though in appreciation for what he was about to do to himself. Brendan watched, waiting to see if the boy would close his eyes or look at him the entire time.

He sucked in a breath when Steven did the latter, the boy barely seeming to blink initially as a finger went into his hole, then his eyelids becoming lowered when he pushed deeper and deeper inside him.

Brendan didn't like how detached he felt. He felt jealous, of what he didn't know, but he regretted his earlier actions, of making Steven wait for what he wanted. He wanted to be involved in this, and he mimicked Steven's stance, dropping to his knees on the floor and shuffling closer to the boy, close enough to sit beside him, sucking on Steven's earlobe while the boy moistened his lips and fucked himself on his fingers.

The boy was extraordinary. Brendan had slept with men in the past who had done what they thought they _should_ be doing, who had made the noises they thought they _should_ be making, their expressions morphing into what they thought would satisfy him.

Steven had no such self consciousness, no qualms about whether he was too loud or not loud enough, and seemingly no thought about whether he looked desirable. Brendan could almost see a switch flip when Steven was like this. It separated him from the boy that he was in his day to day life, the boy who wore his insecurity so openly at times, and craved protection, who mumbled the name of his mother in his sleep, still craving her approval and acceptance. It was as though sex brought Steven truly alive, and he was able to unchain himself from the shackles that had held him his entire life.

They were the same shackles that had always bound Brendan, that he only felt free of when he was with another person like this. He had once thought that there couldn't be anything better, anything higher than having someone new in his bed every night. Now the thought unsettled him. Anything other than this would feel like a loss.

He'd let Steven revel in the pleasure that he was bringing himself, stroking down his back as the boy worked himself up to four fingers, his cock straining and his balls looking ready for release.

Brendan could almost predict the moment that Steven turned to him and asked him to fuck him.

The boy's voice had become breathless, and he didn't remove his fingers the entire time that he pleaded. His eyes were desperate, persuasive.

Brendan covered himself with the towel as he moved from the cubicle, grabbing a condom from his trouser pocket. It was an unnecessary precaution; everyone who might have come in would have been driven out by Steven's open moans and heated sighs.

It had been problematic at first, trying to place Steven in the position that he wanted due to the size of the cubicle. He'd thought the boy would want to ride him again, but Steven had resisted his attempts to place him on his lap, and Brendan had grown frustrated.

"What do you _want_, Steven?"

"You know..." The boy nippled on his lip, and Brendan couldn't believe that he was choosing to be coy _now_ of all times. Jesus. There wasn't an inch of Steven's body that he hadn't seen, or a single thing that they hadn't done together, except what Brendan feared the most. The thing that he would never do with another man again, that he hadn't done since the rape stopped.

"Tell me," Brendan pleaded. He'd always done everything in his power to be generous in bed if nowhere else, and there was something attached to these encounters with Steven, something that made this intention even more important. He _needed_ Steven to be happy. He needed to give him whatever he wanted.

"I want you to fuck me," Steven said, still a hint of shyness lacing his voice.

Brendan had smiled, confused. "Isn't that what we always do?" He'd given the boy a suggestive stroke along his thigh, his hands wandering downwards.

"I know, but... " Steven looked like he didn't know how to articulate what we wanted properly, and Brendan tried to remain patient, to not hurry him.

"I mean...I want it...hard. Please. Just give me everything."

Brendan didn't hold back after that. He lay Steven down on the tiles, the boy's legs settling around his shoulders. He swore when the condom slipped from his grasp in the slide of the water.

"Fuck," Steven said, and Brendan could see the tension building up in him. The anticipation. "Go without it," he continued, seeing him struggling.

Brendan ignored him. He was always safe, and when he placed the condom onto his dick he almost gasped with relief. He pushed straight into the boy, unable to forget Steven's demand of wanting it hard. He barely even let Steven move his hips, just trapped his hands onto the floor, covering his own over them, and thrusting into him with more pressure that he'd ever used.

His back had begun to ache, had felt like it was bleeding from Steven's fingernails scrapping over it. He relished it, fucking the boy more forcefully to make him cling and pull and push at him more. Steven was effortlessly bent in half at the hips now, and when Brendan bent down to kiss him he tugged at the boy's lip, eliciting a groan from Steven that he captured to memory.

Steven had warned Brendan seconds before he'd come, allowing the Irishman to crawl down the boy's body, securing his lips around his cock and swallowing him down. He'd nuzzled against Steven's stomach, lying against him and getting relief from the coldness of the shower's tiles.

He'd begun to feel a vibrating sensation, his face rising against Steven's stomach as the boy let out a booming laugh.

Brendan was growing accustomed to this, to the way that Steven became giddy after orgasming. It was a quirk particular to him, one that made it impossible not to respond with a smile of his own. _He'd_ caused that.

The sound was filthy to his ears, and Brendan was still desperate for more. Even kissing helped with this burning hunger, this _need_, in ways that it never had before. He was sure that he could kiss Steven forever, and it was even more satisfying knowing that the boy could taste himself on his tongue.

He couldn't stop touching him, couldn't seem to go a moment without placing his hands somewhere. Over Steven's cheeks, his thumbs gliding over the skin. Across the tops of his thighs, feeling the surprising strength of the muscle there. Over the foreskin of his cock, rubbing against it and grasping Steven's balls. Eventually his hands would always find their way to his favourite spot, gliding across the smooth globes of his arse, lightly tickling his hole with the tip of a finger.

He had watched as Steven moved from his hold, padding into the changing room outside the cubicle. It left his skin itching, his body permanently unsatisfied, because nothing could ever quite be enough with this boy.

"Let's go back to mine." Steven's face had looked playful, and Brendan got a surreal glimpse of what life could have been like. It was as though Steven was inviting him back to his house, and he was about to meet Amy and the kids.

He shook the thought from his mind, knowing that it would only dampen his good mood. Experiencing happiness in this place was something precious, something that even Brendan didn't want to fuck up. Tomorrow was another therapy session, another day of awaiting Fox's return and sleeping alongside a man who was terrified of his body being invaded again.

If he didn't concentrate on what he had now then he'd go insane. Steven held him back from the darkness.

They'd checked that Douglas wasn't in the cell, their movements become relaxed when it was vacant. They'd collapsed into bed, Brendan removing his clothes again when Steven had protested at seeing his covered form.

Brendan isn't sure how long he'd been asleep when he'd been woken by Steven tracing his hands down his back.

He's reluctant to break the spell, but he can't remove the image from his mind of Steven and Amy hugging as they'd said goodbye. He can't understand how she'd seemed so calm, so accepting of Steven's sexuality and the fact that he's sleeping with a man like him, a man who could destroy him, who's known for doing just that.

He doesn't want to sound like a nagging wife. He keeps his tone neutral, as though the answer doesn't matter half as much to him as it truly does.

"Everything went okay with Amy then?"

Steven is terrible at hiding his discomfort, his hesitancy. Brendan can feel it in his body, his hands on his back stopping in their exploration.

"You didn't tell her, did you?" He feels an overwhelming sense of disappointment, and he knows he has no right to feel it. He still hates talking to Cheryl about who he is, and it's been years since she got the phone call from Eileen, ranting and raving to her about catching him in bed with Macca.

"No, I did." Steven stumbles, his nervousness only growing. Brendan doesn't turn to face him. He doesn't want to make this seem like a confrontation, him against the boy.

He clings onto his words, imagining a world in which someone's actually admitted that they're with him.

"Yeah?" Hope sparks in his voice, and he detests it. It makes him feel vulnerable, weak.

"Yeah, I told her that I'm gay."

Brendan feels his stomach twist. It feels like _excitement_.

"How did she take it?"

"Really well, actually." He sounds surprised, and Brendan remembers that feeling, how he'd believed that Cheryl would disown him, would judge him and accuse him of going against their distinctly Catholic upbringing.

He tries to avoid asking the more obvious question, but Steven's silence only makes it more difficult to resist speaking his thoughts out loud.

"And how did she take...us?"

He hears Steven shift in the bed. He's further away now, where he can't so easily reach him.

"I'm sorry, I -"

Brendan closes his eyes, not needing to hear the rest. He's vaguely aware of Steven continuing to talk, but the words have no meaning to him. He drowns it out, only hearing the bare minimum, _she wouldn't let me see the kids if she knew, she won't understand, maybe they'll be a right time one day_.

One day. As though there's a possibility of that when Steven's unable to tell the mother of his children about him.

He gets up from the bed, pulling on his boxer shorts and a t-shirt, only realising when he can't get the blasted thing over his head that he's picked up Steven's by accident.

"Brendan, I said I'm sorry -"

He doesn't want to hear Steven's apologies. It suggests that he's done something wrong, that the boy owes him something.

But Brendan doesn't want to look at him either.

"I know how Amy feels about all this stuff. She hated me enough for shoplifting, let alone... I just want the right time to explain."

Brendan continues to get dressed, his back facing the boy.

"I said I'm sorry - why are you being like this now?"

There's an edge of panic there, and it reminds Brendan of Steven's refusal to let him end things between them weeks ago. As though the boy's terrified that everything's slipping away.

He wants to comfort him, but his instinct is stronger, overruling any sentimentality. Steven should realise how sick he is, how there's a twisted kind of pleasure to be had in shutting people out.

"I'm not going anywhere until we've sorted it out."

He doesn't know why he stays. Perhaps there's a part of him which is as desperate as Steven is to hang onto this, to not lose the best thing that's ever come into his life. He wants the boy to say something that will make this better, that will somehow convince Brendan that they have a future together, even when everything's screaming at him that they don't.

His voice is still reluctant, harsher than the boy deserves. "Okay."

He makes himself face Steven, still keeping his distance while he remains in bed, staring up at Brendan with wide eyes.

He voices the fear that's gnawing at Brendan, that he knows is the deal breaker.

"What if she takes the kids off me?"

"So what's the plan?" There only seems to be one choice, for him to never see him at all.

The boy's growing angry now, and it's replacing his previous fear. Brendan doesn't blame him. He feels angry at himself.

"I just think, maybe in a few months if -"

He doesn't like the _if_. It's too uncertain, too fragile, too delicate. He wants to wound the boy as much as he's wounding him.

"If what? If I can still stand the sight of your face?"

"If this is still working."

They're both silent. Brendan can see Steven opening his mouth again, and he doesn't know whether the boy wants to take it back or not, or which one is worse. If he doesn't then are his words going to become more vicious, more punishing? Or if he does, will he even mean it, or will he just be saying it to soothe Brendan's fears?

Brendan interrupts him before he can make that choice.

"What do you mean, if this is still working? What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean." He's furious now, angered by Brendan trying to force him to decide.

"No." But he does know. He knows exactly, and that's the problem. He hadn't even realised until now that he'd seen no real end to this, no time when he would say goodbye to Steven. He'd started to fool himself that release dates were meaningless, and that something could still exist between them. However strained and unconventional, it was still preferable to nothing, to an empty space between them with no contact, just a fading memory of Steven's face and voice.

His rational thought moments before that Amy doesn't need to know is overtaken by the belief that she does, and desperately.

"Phone her."

Steven stares at him in shock, as though uncertain whether this is a dare or an honest command.

"No. You're not being serious." He looks like he's willing for him not to be.

"If you don't, I will." Fuck, he doesn't even have the number, but he'll find it if he has to.

Steven shakes his head, rejecting his words.

"Fine." Brendan's voice is broken, choked up with emotion. Before he even knows what he's doing he's riffling through Steven's drawers, an invasion of his privacy that he hates himself for, but he can't not look, not search. He knows his chances of finding Amy's details are slim. Steven would have learnt his telephone number off by heart, and he's unsurprised when he finds nothing, just piles of clothes.

Even when he's stopped looking Steven grabs him by the arm, trying to stop this from happening at all.

It's not long before he explodes.

"No. Don't make me choose between you and my kids Brendan, right? Because you will lose, every single time."

_You will lose._ It's all he can hear. Every single time, like he always has.

He wants to say something equally as stinging, equally as damaging and hurtful, but he hears the sound of the door opening, already knowing who it'll be before he looks. _Of course_ it's him, because _of course_ he has to be here every time he fucks up. He looks like Steven's fucking knight in shining armour in comparison.

"Oh look who it is, it's Dougie," he says acidically, and points between the two men, hand moving from Steven to Douglas. "Tweedle dum, and tweedle dumber."

"I want to be in my room," Douglas says firmly, ignoring the slight. "Preferably without him in it."

Brendan laughs hollowly. The boy can't even say his name, acts like it's poison on his tongue.

He stares at Steven, a last attempt to see if the boy will somehow right all of Brendan's wrongs.

"I'm sorry Brendan. I really wish I could tell Amy, but I can't."

Brendan looks down at the floor, feeling the last vestiges of hope leave his body.

"Do you know what, that's not my fault. And it's not hers either. And if you can't see that, then maybe we're just wasting our time, aren't we?"

He stares between them, the boy who said he loves him and the boy who despises him, who wants him gone. He's not sure there's any difference between them now, and he can see the same anger in Steven's eyes that lie behind Douglas's.

He leaves the room before Steven has the opportunity to break him even more.

* * *

Brendan finds her in her classroom, tidying up her paperwork and slinging her bag around her shoulder, about to leave.

He hangs back and tries to disappear into the shadows, reluctant to interrupt her if she's on her way home. He curses the artificial lighting that renders hiding places impossible.

"Brendan?"

He abandons his attempts at camouflage, and steps towards her.

"Hi Lynsey."

He's constantly amazed by her ability to smile at him, even after a day spent teaching men who think that Baz Luhrmann wrote Romeo and Juliet.

"Are you okay?"

She knows him too well. It's rare that he'll wander down this corridor. It reminds him too much of the time he spent at school, his English teacher shouting at him for not doing his homework, ignoring his protests that it was because he couldn't concentrate at home, or at the library. Or anywhere, because everything in his head had been replaced with _him_.

He shuffles, picking at the peeling paint against the wall until Lynsey tuts at him, dislodging his hand.

She's the only member of staff whose ever been like this with him. Touching him as though he's not contagious.

"You know me. Always dancing, always happy."

She crosses her arms, staring at him challengingly. "Once more with feeling please."

He knows he needs to stop pretending. If he can with anyone, he can with her. He's safe here. It reminds him of being back with Cheryl, only without the weight and expectations of being so closely linked with someone, so closely related. Lynsey doesn't expect anything from him, and he knows she cares, that when she sits back down at her desk, ready to hear him and listen, she's not doing it out of some sense of obligation.

Brendan closes the door behind him, and sits at the desk facing her. He'd usually stumble over his words for half an hour before arriving at the point, but he's tired of hiding. Tired of being dishonest and secretive.

"I've been seeing someone."

"Seeing? You've never said that before."

He knows Lynsey's aware of his past arrangements with Simon and Vincent, that gossip travels fast. She'd tried to confront him once when Vincent had turned up in her classroom rotten drunk, hurling abuse at her before falling unconscious against his desk. He's ashamed of the way he acted back then, how he'd turned to her with cold eyes, devoid of emotion.

_He's not my problem. _

"This is different. I'm serious about him. Did Douglas tell you about it?"

He realises his mistake the moment that the words leave his mouth. He's never talked about Douglas with Lynsey before, never cottoned on to her that he knows, and he can see the cogs turning in her mind now, the question of whether she's been caught out making her milky complexion burn.

"Why would Doug tell me?"

If he stammers here then he'll give the whole game away.

"He's your pupil," Brendan answers with a shrug, and he watches as bit by bit the anxiety leaves her, and is replaced by something else. Recognition.

"Wait a second. You mean..." A smile starts to form, her mouth agape. "You and Ste Hay?"

Brendan frowns. He'd expected to have to explain, for her to take longer to understand his meaning than this. Perhaps gossip's even more rife than he'd imagined.

She seems to be thinking out loud now. "So that's what he meant."

Brendan feels as though he's missed a step. "What?"

Lynsey looks as though she's said too much. "Nothing, it doesn't matter."

Brendan laughs incredulously. "Come on Lyns, you can't just say that and not finish it! Are you talking about Steven? What did he say?"

"Brendan, he said it to me in confidence."

There's not even a possibility of him letting this go. He needs something to cling onto after his argument with Steven, something solid and concrete which will convince him that they stand a hope in hell of surviving.

Lynsey sees the determination in his eyes.

"You're going to keep on hounding me until I tell you, aren't you?"

He nods, and she sighs and rubs at her temple. "Ste came to me a while back, and told me that there was someone he liked in here, but he wasn't sure whether to act on it because of what they'd done." She looks at him knowingly, and it passes between them. Seamus. The murder. The fact that she'd once told him that she believed that there was more to it, and he's never forgotten it since. Its bound them and made him want to look after her, make sure that she's safe from the Silas's and Warren's of this world. Men who exploit and torture and degrade.

"I didn't realise it was you," she continues.

"What was your advice to him?"

"That sometimes you have to forgive."

Brendan groans, closing his eyes and knocking his fist against his forehead. "I don't deserve you. Or him."

"He seemed pretty smitten to me."

"Yeah, and I just fucked everything up."

"How?"

He's reluctant to repeat the conversation. He already regrets it acutely, can't believe that he was so _stupid_. He becomes an animal when he's wounded, lashing out just as aggressively, doing anything as a form of self protection. Except it's not protection at all, because he only ends up alone again.

He drums his fingers against the desk in agitation. "I asked him to choose between me and his kids."

He can't bear the way it sounds. He'd die for Declan and Padraig, and he respects Steven for being the kind of person who'd do the same. He's tired of seeing everything as a form of rejection.

"He'll forgive you."

He wishes he had her certainty, would do anything for it.

"Does he know, Brendan? Does he know that you love him?"

Brendan feels like crawling out of his own skin. He fights the urge to run from the room, and forces himself to meet her gaze. To not be the coward that his father always said he was.

"No. No, he doesn't."

He wants to ask how Lynsey knows. He thought he'd done a stellar job of hiding it, of concealing it even from himself.

"You have to tell him."

He looks at this woman, this woman who he met on his first day here, whose seen him when he was carried away by officers and put in the segregation unit for his violence, screaming at the top of his lungs while he was dragged down the hallway. She's never stopped trying to get through to him, even when he deserved it the least. He knows the demand is for his own benefit, and has nothing to do with her. She wants him to tell Steven for _him_.

Brendan stands up from his seat, walking over to the desk and laying a hand on Lynsey's shoulder. He wants to kiss her, wants to put his arms around her. This doesn't feel enough, not substantial in comparison to everything that she's done for him; how she was the only person who made him feel human when he first came here.

But he knows it's not his place, that he's not allowed, and he redraws his touch, smiling at her and moving to the door.

He's not finished yet though. There's still something plaguing him, still something that's buried itself inside him, and he can't even begin to deal with it until he knows for sure.

"If I ask you something, do you promise to be honest with me?"

"Brendan, you know I can't promise that. I have a confidentiality agreement, and -"

"I know, I know," he says, holding his hands up in defense. "Please, just...I'm asking this for Steven's sake, okay? Because you and me both know that there are certain people in here, and as long as they exist no one will ever be safe. I need to look after him, Lynsey. I need to know when Warren Fox is coming back."

Lynsey avoids his eyes, and he's sure that she's going to tell him that it's not her information to give away.

He sees her considering, deliberating. Fighting with herself.

"He's coming back tomorrow."


	28. Chapter 28

"Please don't start."

"What? Ste, I didn't even say anything."

Ste shuts his eyes, leaning back against the wall of the cell. He feels exhausted, drained, and yet just over an hour ago he'd forgot about the threat of Warren and his nervousness about Amy's impending visit. He'd felt _happy_.

"You were about to though, weren't you?"

They're trapped in this merry go round that's never ending, Doug always there to witness Brendan's anger, his coldness and detachment. Ste can see why he thinks that they're better off apart, but he's fighting a futile battle. It's not even a question of whether he's going to end things with Brendan.

He's already itching to see the Irishman and make this right somehow. To give him the silent treatment or scream at him, but to ultimately be in a room with him and leave _together_, no distance separating them. He feels anxiety clawing at him, and he's imagining history repeating itself. Brendan ending things. Brendan hitting him. And Ste still being just as in love with him as ever, and not being able to do a single thing about it.

"How many times have we had this conversation?"

Ste realises that he's not the only one aware of it, of the constant disagreements over Brendan that are clouding the friendship that they've developed, threatening to disband it altogether.

"Maybe if you wouldn't keep on getting at me, and him..." He mumbles, reluctant to turn this into a full blown confrontation, but needing to defend Brendan somehow. He feel as though Doug's attack on the Irishman is an attack on them both.

"This isn't healthy. You and him."

The word strikes a chord, unsettling him. He can't make sense of it, can't even begin to understand what _healthy_ consists of. He never had that with Pauline or Terry, never knew what it was like to be part of something normal. He killed any chance of that when he first hurt Amy.

Wanting someone as desperately as he wants Brendan doesn't feel safe, or sensible. It feels like the most reckless choice he's ever made.

Doug's alighted with bitterness. Ste's sure that highlighting Brendan's limitations has become his favourite pastime, something to while away the time and give him something to believe in. His mouth's spilling it out like acid.

"It just seems like all you ever do is argue, and then have sex. And have sex, and then argue. And then argue while you have sex -"

"Doug!" He struggles to contain the part of himself that acts on instinct when something he cares about is being scrutinised, found lacking. He burns with it, with suppressed anger that he doesn't know how to channel, knowing that Doug's not right, but that he's not entirely wrong either.

Doug moves closer to him and Ste feels blocked into the room, wrapping himself up and making himself small, almost hoping that he'll disappear so that Doug can't tell him this, can't make his and Brendan's relationship vulnerable, shaky in its foundations.

"I can help you." His voice is low, urgent. "When we both get out of here, me and Lynsey can be there for you."

"I've got my family, Doug."

He doesn't need help. He's been surviving his whole life by fending for himself, and there's a niggling feeling inside him that the intention of Doug's help is to keep him away from Brendan, as though he's trying to stop him giving into a craving, a fix. He's making him feel like an addict.

"Ste, think about it -"

They both jump from the sudden crash of the door, and Ste's so alarmed by Brendan's appearance that he forgets to be cold towards him. Sweat is clinging to the man's forehead and he looks frantic and desperate, his chest heaving as though he's been running for miles. He looks at Ste as though as though he's trying to consign his features to memory. The gaze is too much, too intense, and Ste feels a prickle of nervousness take over his previous frustration.

He knows somethings happened. He can feel it.

"What's wrong?" He asks straight away, stepping out from Doug's shadow and moving towards the older man.

"I should go," Doug says, already heading towards the door.

"No. You should be here for this. It involves you too."

Brendan speaks through his panting breaths, too tightly wound to even still for a moment to get his heart rate back to its normal speed. His words are barely stringed together but the weight of them falls heavily on all three men, their reactions immediate and just as frenzied.

"Warren's coming back from hospital tomorrow."

Brendan doesn't take his eyes off him the entire time. His gaze travels across Ste's lashes, over his chest and down to his thighs. Ste doesn't like it, doesn't like how it feels as though Brendan's trying to remember all of him, as though they'll soon be ripped from each other.

"Ethan -" Doug begins, concern for his friend distorting his voice, making it a broken question.

"He doesn't know yet."

Doug knows it falls to him, that he's the one to bear the brunt of responsibility, to be the messenger unless he wants an officer to be the one to break it to the man, no evidence of compassion or empathy in the deliverance of their news. Ste can see him mentally preparing for it already, raking his hands through his head of dark hair, expression littered with tension and the need to get this right. To not leave Ethan any more broken than he already is.

"Who told you this, Brendan?" It's all Ste can say, sounds so fucking unimportant in the face of all this that he doesn't know why it's the first thing out of his mouth, but he can't take the shock of everything else. He needs something simple to cling onto, something away from the horror of what could happen.

"It doesn't matter who told me. We need to start planning for this."

"How?" Ste can't see a way they can possibly prepare or protect themselves. This was the whole reason that he wanted Warren gone in the first place; the man's brutality doesn't have limits. No amount of reasoning with him is going to work.

"Douglas, go and tell Ethan what's happened."

Ste expects Doug to protest against Brendan's orders, but he nods and leaves the room at once, the importance of this outweighing their mutual dislike.

When they're alone Ste's panic only rises. The images in his head are punishing and violent, and he imagines scenarios playing out before him of Warren finding Brendan, and blood being shed. He remembers his reaction at seeing Brendan's hand after he'd smashed it into the mirror. He'd never been squeamish; his upbringing didn't allow that to exist in him. But the sight of the bruises appearing and the blood spilling down his knuckles had connected with something at the heart of him, and if he could have healed Brendan with the power of his lips alone then he would have kissed along every tendon, every inch of skin.

For the first time since he arrived here he feels truly terrified, and it's leeching the hope from him.

Brendan misinterprets his detachment, his lack of speech and warmth.

"I know I'm the last person you want to be talking to right now, but -"

"What can we do? What can we do to keep you safe?"

Brendan stares at him, shocked into silence. He'd been expecting a bitter retort and to be frozen out, not to be an object of Ste's concern.

"Me?" He says, unable to connect with what Ste's telling him, what his worries are centred around. "I'm not worried about _me_, Steven."

Ste laughs, can't believe that Brendan's still carrying on in this same vein, fucking ridiculous and stupid how someone can be so careless of their own safety, their own awareness of how essential their survival is, essential to _him_.

"I can look after myself, right? I'm getting out of here soon, you've got to live with him every day."

He can see Brendan's temper rising, terrifying and like an explosion, never knowing where it's going to hit. He paces the room, muttering incoherently under his breath, and Ste would put money on most of it being expletives about him.

"Brendan -"

The older man surges forward, and for one moment Ste's sure that this is it, and he closes his eyes on instinct and turns away, his face screwed up with the expectation of what's to come.

He can feel the grip of Brendan's hands on his arms, can feel the man's harsh breathing, can almost smell his anger. Ste waits, not daring to look.

The hold on him lessens, still there but less firm, less desperate and painful and forceful.

"Steven." It's soft, and it reminds him of when Brendan used to try and wake him in the mornings, his words spoken into his ears, his hands wandering lower down Ste's body to propel him to leave his dream like state and be with him instead. "I'm not going to hit you."

Ste can hear the effort it takes for him to say this, to acknowledge that it's still a possibility, still ever present in the back of Ste's mind. A fear that's there even when the violence isn't. He resists the urge to apologise which claws at him, especially when he opens his eyes and sees the hurt on Brendan's face, the regret.

"It's just...you don't realise, do you? No matter how many times I say it. Warren's going to come after _you_."

"But why? You're the one who did it," Ste says, whispering it even though no one's around to hear.

"Yeah, exactly. And what's the best revenge? To come after the people that I..." He sighs, taking a breath and inhaling the dusty prison air into his lungs, then out again, looking at Ste the entire time as though he's a puzzle that he can't understand, and that it's killing him.

"That you what?" He can't believe he's doing this now of all times. They've just heard that a rapist and a murderer is returning and is going to make whoever put him in a coma pay, and yet he's staring at Brendan, willing for him to speak the words that he feels like he's been waiting for his entire life.

Brendan reaches out a hand, smoothing his thumb along the corners of Ste's mouth. He flinches, drawing away from the older man's touch. It's still too soon, too raw from their argument, and a part of him is determined to hold onto his belief that he's the one who was wronged.

He can feel Brendan resisting his question, reluctant to answer, and the humiliation makes Ste echo the man's earlier actions, pacing the floor of the cell, his fingers and thumb playing with his lower lip, twisting it and trying to make it hurt, to make it replace the tidal wave of emotion that he's experiencing now. He's desperate to comfort Brendan, to lock them in this room forever and keep him safe, but he doesn't know if Brendan would be safe from _him_, from what he wants to do to him for forcing him to choose between his children and what they have together.

"What's your plan then?" He asks, voice small and tentative. He's tempted to go straight to the police and ask for their protection. He's prepared to beg for it if that's what it takes.

"You have to stay with me."

"What do you mean?"

"All day, until you leave here. And at night. I'll sort something out with Osborne. I'll go to Tony again if I have to."

Ste laughs, disbelieving. He can't understand how Brendan doesn't see the flaws in this, must be so damn determined to make it work that he's ignoring them completely.

"You can't be with me all the time. It's not possible."

"I'll make it fucking possible."

"And what about if Ethan needs help, or Doug? You can't protect everyone."

Brendan glances at him, gaze tight and eyes burning. "Maybe I don't want to protect everyone. Just you."

Ste wants to deliver a blow to Brendan's head for thinking that he can do this, that he can leave Ethan and Doug to rot and it's okay as long as _Ste's_ safe. He's not the only one of importance here, not the only one who needs to be looked after. It can't be a job for one man either way, can't be up to Brendan to keep them all alive. It's not his responsibility, and no way in hell is Ste going to allow him to place himself under that vulnerable danger.

"Please Steven. Please let me." He looks close to insanity, so fucking desperate to make him agree to this, shaking with the need for it. He sways on the spot, unsure of whether he can step any closer, of whether Ste will let him again. But he can't distance himself, can't stand to not watch over him now that everything's fragile, precarious.

"What do you want me to do?" Ste asks, isn't so sure that he wants to be agreeing to anything when Brendan's like this. He doesn't know how it's possible to trust someone so completely and yet be so incredibly wary of them all at once. He constantly borders on giving his life to Brendan in the palm of his hands, and withdrawing his touch and warmth from the Irishman as though he's going to shatter him into pieces.

"Sleep in my cell tonight."

Ste shakes his head, although God knows it's a tempting thought. Even after the argument they've had that desire hasn't gone away. It's why he wants to resist it, doesn't know if he's strong enough to _not_ have sex with Brendan, and if he does then it's giving into the whole thing all over again. Choosing Brendan over his children with the power of his body.

"Warren's not coming back to prison till tomorrow."

"That could be anytime. Could be four in the morning."

"Brendan, he's going to have a million officers on him. And he's going to be weak from what you did to him, isn't he? He's not going to have it in him to come after someone after that." He can't believe the calmness of his tone, can't understand why Brendan beating a man into a coma isn't affecting him more. He feels heartless, wonders if something in him is deadened, devoid of feeling.

"You don't know Foxy like I do."

Ste senses that he's not going to find a way out of this. Brendan's too agitated, too overcome with worst case scenarios, staring at Ste like he's in danger of disappearing.

"Alright." He relinquishes control. "I'll stay with you."

He sees the relief it brings, the way that it lightens Brendan's load, the man smiling shakily at him in gratitude.

"I'll arrange it with Darren." Brendan moves towards the door, and Ste knows what that arrangement consists of, isn't an idiot. There's only one way that Brendan gets favours in this place, and it doesn't involve saying please and thank you.

"Don't push him too far." He hopes there's enough of a warning in his voice to get through to Brendan. He's fucking terrified that one day the man will take it too far and the staff in this place won't be so accommodating, will be stronger than Brendan's threats and intimidation.

"I know what I'm doing." It's still there between them, the frustration, the push and pull and Brendan's need for him to have faith in him, to tell Amy and to stop flinching every time his hands unexpectedly come near him. It's in every sentence, every word, too much deeper meaning there that it hurts Ste to hear it.

When Brendan's gone Ste only waits a moment or two before leaving the cell, enough time for the older man to have vanished down the hallway. Ste needs something to concentrate on, needs to disband the churning of his mind. His head feels ready to burst with anxiety. If he doesn't get an outlet then he'll follow Brendan and keep an eye on him himself. In every shadow and every corner of the prison he imagines Warren, ready to strike and take Brendan away from him. It's more powerful than his rational thought. His words to Brendan that Warren won't come after any of them is his weakened state is rendered meaningless, secondary to his fears.

He needs to be the strong one for once. The one who holds them all together.

He steadies himself when he reaches Brendan and Ethan's cell, expecting to open the door and be faced with a flood of tears and an expression etched with pain, one that's cordoned off to attempts to comfort and reassure.

The reality is bleaker. More difficult to withstand.

Shock has overtaken Ethan. He's beyond the point of tears, his eyes dry and unseeing. His gaze is blank as he stares ahead at the wall, Doug's hand on his back as it rubs against the material of his t-shirt. The American's fighting for words, struggling for something to say that could carry weight, that could even begin to fix this. When he sees Ste standing in the doorway his eyes are bright with relief, for someone else to carry the burden that binds them all.

Ste feels like he's tiptoeing towards them, not wanting to disturb the grief or add to it. It feels uncomfortably close to home, brimming under the surface for Brendan too, and Ste wonders if this is how the man had felt upon Seamus's return; devoid of all hope with his future scattered on the floor.

He hears himself mumble sorry. It feels inappropriate to be towering above them, but patronising to be crouching on the floor, as though talking to a small child. He settles for joining them on the bed, Ethan sandwiched between both men, Ste's hand settling next to Doug's and trying to heal Ethan through touch alone.

* * *

Brendan's leaning against the railings on the upper floor. He feels better like this, looking down at the prison and the other men below, pretending to himself that he has some power here, power which is increasingly slipping from this grasp. He intended to go straight back to Steven, but a quick scan of his cell showed that he's safe with Douglas and Ethan.

From where he is he can keep an eye on the door, with perfect access if Steven steps out from the room. He's sure the boy wouldn't approve of him standing guard like this, but he feels more reassured now that Steven is playing by his rules for the time being, and won't stray from his presence and the safety that it brings.

It's getting to him though, and it hasn't even started. The pressure's mounting, and he needs this time alone just to recuperate and work out how he can have eyes at the back of his head. He knows that Steven's realistic where he's not, that he can't be around him _all_ the time. Even a few seconds away from him could give Warren the opportunity to strike, and then he will of lost everything.

There's an obvious solution, obvious to _him_. It would get rid of the threat, and perhaps he'd be able to breathe again.

He's killed a man before. He wonders if it really makes that much difference, if once you're tainted by blood on your hands it will be that much worse to add another casualty to the growing list of the people you've hurt. If he kills Warren none will have died who don't deserve to. He's the same breed as Seamus, perhaps not the same kind of monster, but a monster all the same. No one would miss him.

He could get a weapon easily. Even one of the pool cues would suffice. It would be hard to hide one from the guards to get it back to his cell; it's not exactly something he can stick down the front of his shirt. But if he can destroy the CCTV tapes of Warren's attack then anything's possible. It's merely a matter of planning ahead, of having someone to watch his back.

That's where the true problem lies. He has no one. He can't tell Steven about this, can't risk the horror on his face and the boy's desperate attempts to talk him out of it. Sometimes Brendan worries that behind the smiles and the kisses and the feel of Steven's body is the realisation that he's sleeping with a murderer, with damaged goods. Once was unforgivable to begin with, but twice is asking the boy to believe in his humanity when he's only showing him the destruction he can cause, the darkness that lurks underneath. He's terrified that it can't be altered through time or therapy, that it can't even be altered through love, the one thing that he knows should rock the foundations of his brutality.

The only person who wants Warren dead just as much as he does is Ethan. Brendan can already predict the man's uncertainty, his agreement to help him only to pull out at the last second, his fear eclipsing his need for the sweet taste of revenge. He can't take that chance, can't allow Ethan in on his plan only to find out that the man's grassed him up to an officer. Once a copper always a copper.

He doesn't want to ask Douglas, can't think of many things he'd detest more than working alongside him. It makes him laugh darkly, imagining the boy attempting to bring Warren into a headlock, the older man disentangling himself and knocking the American to the floor, him lying there in a crumpled, chino-ed mess. He'd be about as usual as Steven's Leah in a fight, and he's sure she would at least do some damage to Warren's hair from what he's heard about her feistiness.

Time was when the solution would have been clear. He had a partner in crime. Someone who's even less afraid of risks than he is. Rules and boundaries mean nothing to him, and it made him someone exciting to be with, albeit a challenge to survive all the non stop innuendos without injuring him before they'd even got started on the other fucker. The man's body is lithe, flexible. He may not have the muscularity of some of the men in here, but behind his deceptive build he's a fighter; he'd taken out men before with a fly kick to the head and a foot to their balls, rendering them defenseless and open to more pain, to defeat.

That same body's walking towards Brendan now, almost like he senses when he's burning in the man's brain. Brendan looks away, focusing his attention back to the door of the cell, listening intently for any sound of a struggle. He's still expecting Warren to have snuck in early, right under his nose.

He expects the man to move straight past him, but he leans beside him on the railing. Brendan stiffens, hoping that if he makes no comment then he'll go away. He'd usually be game for a confrontation, but that all feels like another life now. A life that didn't have Steven under such risk of harm, that didn't have Steven in it at all.

There are more important things than feeling like he's won a fight.

"Warren's back, isn't he?"

Brendan faces him, too shocked to keep up with his silent state.

"Who told you?"

"You just did. You look like a ghost."

Perceptive bastard. Brendan faces in front of him again, unable to read Simon's expression. He doesn't know if the man's triumphant that this is having such an affect on him. Perhaps he thinks that this is what he and Steven are both owed.

"What's the plan then?"

He knows him too well. He can't lie, not when the man's shared the same air as him for the last few years, not when he's witnessed every significant part of Brendan's life in here. He saw him the day Vincent died. Walker had taken him to bed, unable to understand how grief could be dealt with in any other way. He listened to Brendan telling a crying Declan down the phone that he couldn't come and visit, that prison was no place for a boy his age, and to try and forget about him. He saw him the day after he first met Steven, Brendan's eyes vivid and alive for the first time in months, something like hope lighting them.

"I need to be with Steven all the time," he says, voice low. It still feels too personal to express how he feels for the boy out loud, something that he expects Walker to laugh at.

He simply continues to look at him, face devoid of anything that Brendan can understand.

It makes him carry on talking, the words spilling out of his mouth rapidly now, the urgency of the situation making him honest where he'd usually be secretive.

"I've talked to Osborne. He's going to let Steven sleep at mine tonight. Steven's only got over a month left in here. If I just stay by his side then -"

"You're not going to be able to do it," Walker cuts through, his voice sharp and emphatic.

Brendan sneers at him, willing the world to make the man wrong, even when he knows that he's being naive, impractical. But God, he's never wished that he could be right more than he does now.

"You'd love that, wouldn't you?" He accuses, disgust peppering his voice. "Seeing Warren hurt Steven, seeing me lose him."

Walker shakes his head, mechanical but defiant. "No. I wouldn't love that." He's quiet now, sombre.

"Why not?" He'd thought he'd have to look at the smirk of satisfaction appearing on the man's face, would have to contend with Walker teaming up with Warren and trying to add to his downfall.

Walker stares across at the door of the cell that Brendan's been guarding so carefully.

"I care about him."

Brendan feels a swell of anger rise in him.

"You do realise that wanting to get into someone's pants isn't the same as caring about them, right? You do understand that?" He asks incredulously.

Walker looks at him, his eyes shining. "Yes Brendan, I am capable of knowing the difference. And before you start to have a hernia, you don't need to worry. I'm not going to try and steal Ste again."

Brendan scoffs, hands turning white against the railing as he flexes his knuckles. "Good, because your last attempt was just embarrassing."

Walker throws his head back and laughs. It's the same manic sound that has been vacant in Brendan's life since they severed ties. He hasn't missed it, but it's familiar. Strangely comforting, because he knows how to deal with Walker when he's like this, when he sounds like a fucking hyena. What he doesn't know how to deal with is Warren Fox when he's trying to kill the thing that's closest to him.

"Come on, I didn't do too badly. I got to taste his pre come, didn't I?"

Brendan's face contorts. "You disgust me."

"I forget how territorial you are over your boys sometimes."

"Boy," Brendan says before he can stop himself. It's a _boy_ that he's territorial over. There won't be any more.

It's only more ammunition to Walker.

"Wow. You've really got it bad, haven't you? I'm seeing things more clearly now."

"How about I punch you in the eye? Then you won't be seeing things so clearly, will you?"

Walker sighs, as though he's already prepared himself for the aggression. He's unfazed.

"I wouldn't be much use to you then, would I?"

Brendan frowns. He feels like he needs a fucking road map to follow the man sometimes.

"What?"

"You're going to need me to help you," Walker replies, as though it's not even a question.

It's Brendan's turn to laugh.

"You? You think I want _you_ to help me?" He'd rather go to Douglas.

"We both know that there's no one else."

Brendan doesn't know how the man does it, has access to his thoughts like that. Is it because whatever drives him drives Walker too? That's the whole reason that the man's in here, for killing a woman who let his brother down, who didn't give him the justice he deserved.

He knows he'd do the same for Cheryl. For his children.

He's doing all this for Steven _now_. Putting the boy's safety above his own freedom, his chance of ever getting out of this place. If he kills Warren then he'd looking at another ten year stretch at least. The possibility of him leaving prison in a box is looking more and more likely.

"I'll find a way."

"Do you really want to take that chance? Put Ste at risk because you're too selfish to swallow your pride and let me help?"

"Swallow my pride? Walker, you tried to screw me over. You used my dad to come between me and Steven. You're acting like you stole the last slice of bacon from me."

He's sure he imagines the flash of guilt that crosses Walker's face. For a man devoid of emotion, he's excellent at pretending he has them sometimes.

"Brendan, I can look after him with you. Whenever you can't be there -"

"I'll always be there," Brendan interrupts firmly.

"Whenever you can't, " Walker reiterates, "I can. Until we work out what to do with Fox, he'll never be alone."

Brendan shakes his head resolutely. "I'm not leaving him with you. You'd throw him to the wolves the first chance you got."

"I told you -"

"What, you _care_ about him?" He says, his voice goading. It bothers him that he wants this to be false more than he wants it to be true. "Stick to Carl, or Kevin, or whatever the fuck his name is. Leave me and Steven out of it."

He doesn't look back as he walks down the hall.

* * *

Steven's brushing his teeth in the sink, his mouth a mess of toothpaste. It's giving him a slight appearance of a moustache. Brendan watches him from the bed, Steven only noticing his gaze when he's half way through, his stance becoming self conscious.

He's not self conscious when he speaks though. He's frank, unwilling to mince his words, or unable to. Brendan guesses that his background didn't allow softly spoken requests or polite behaviour. It suits him fine; he likes this Steven. He likes every type of Steven.

"Shit, I have no pajamas! I put my only pair in the wash."

Brendan tries to hide his surprise. He'd expected Steven to sleep naked, or in his boxers if he became cold in the night. He's an idiot. _Of course_ Steven won't want to be that exposed, not when he believed mere hours earlier that Brendan was capable of hitting him.

But it's what he's grown accustomed to, the boy's soft skin on display to him, rubbing up against him as he fights to get comfy in the single bed that they share.

He's scared when he considers that perhaps Steven won't even want to sleep in his bed tonight.

His fears are unfounded when the boy joins him under the covers, keeping the light on. Brendan's wary; he's sure that this means that Steven wants to talk. He keeps his torso covered. He doesn't want Steven thinking that he expected sex from him, his bare chested appearance contrasting with the boy's clothed upper and lower half.

He can feel the hair on Steven's legs tickling against his own, and it provides some reassurance that the boy's not trying to distance himself from him completely, afraid of his own touch.

"I don't know how to do this. To open up, to talk about...feelings. It scares me."

"Do I scare you?" Steven asks, and it comes so out of the blue that it takes Brendan a moment to respond. Isn't this his question to be asking?

He decides to be honest. It's something he's been trying lately, for Steven's sake, and he prays that the boy won't hate him for it.

"I scare me." Nothing in this world scares him more than himself. The things that he's capable of doing to the people he loves.

He thinks he sees something like acceptance in Steven's face. Understanding. Perhaps Steven knows what it's like to stare at his reflection in the mirror and not like what he sees.

Brendan feels his body move closer, just the smallest amount.

"I am going to tell Amy about us."

Hope blooms. It feels fragile, but beautiful.

"Really?" He wants it to be true. He needs to believe that Steven's not ashamed of the man that he's with.

"I hope you know that she's never going to forgive me."

Steven's voice is light, but there's something there. An undercurrent of something bigger.

"Is it always going to be like this with us?"

He's asked Brendan this question before, and he's still stuck for answers. But he wants that _always_. He wants to grasp it in his hand and stop it from flying away. The possibility of it. The way that it's giving him a second chance at something, something not without its baggage and its problems, but something that still feels pure. He hasn't ruined it yet.

"I don't know," Brendan answers with a sigh. He can't tell Steven that he's going to change, that seeing Desmond is going to fix him. He broke a vase when he was a boy, a family heirloom. No matter how many times he tried to glue it back together, it was never the same again.

"Because you know what, if it is..."

Brendan expects him to say that he'll have to end things. That Steven can't take years stretched ahead of him of Brendan's moods and temper. His can understand that, even if it makes him want to die.

"I can live with that." He reaches for Brendan's hand underneath the covers and squeezes it, bringing him back to life.

Steven smiles their own private smile, stroking along Brendan's hand like he's something precious.

"I wouldn't for anyone else, it's only because it's you okay?"

This is the time to say it. This is his chance, the moment when Brendan opens his mouth and lets the confession fall from his lips, _Steven I love you._

How can he not love the boy and all that he is? The vulnerability there that makes him want to protect him, that speaks of a childhood spent alone and in fear, unloved by those who should have cared for him the most. The strength which burns in Steven's eyes that makes him bolder and braver than Brendan's ever been, that's made him survive in a place like this where lesser men have fallen by the wayside, struggling to exist in the confines of the locked doors and the claustrophobic cells. How could he not love the boy's beauty, the eyelashes that no grown man should possess and that Brendan likes to run his tongue over; the lips which are already puckered in the morning, waiting for a kiss that Brendan doesn't deserve but which he has to claim. How can he not love the way that Steven looks at him, like he can conquer the whole fucking world, that they can do it _together_. How can he not love the man who knows about what was done to him, who knows what Seamus took and ruined, and still wants to be inside him every night, who grips his body with his hands and draws him closer, no such thing as enough or too much.

But if he tells Steven and the boy leaves him then he'll know what he's taking away. He'll know exactly how it will destroy him.

He kisses against the palm of Steven's hand, whispering "thank you" instead.

It still feels insubstantial next to everything that the boy's given him.

"I'm going to make this right. Everything with Warren, and your family...and me. I'm going to make _me_ right."

"You _are_ right. Just because I want you to get help, it doesn't mean that there's anything wrong with you."

He wonders whether Steven realises that this is a feeble argument, that he must be seeing something that should be fixed if he wants him to see a therapist. But the boy's staring at him with such conviction that it's hard to let these doubts grow.

"You can't keep on thinking that you're not normal, Bren."

The nickname makes him smile as he kisses against Steven's knuckles. It sounds natural. _Good_. He know that he's been forgiven.

"Also, you're not doing a very good job of watching over me, are you?"

Brendan's eyebrows raise. "Excuse me?"

Steven's gestures between them. "There's a lot of space between us, don't you think? Warren could easily sneak in here."

Brendan tuts, exasperated. "Not funny, Steven." The last thing he wants to be thinking about is Foxy featuring in his sex life.

The boy giggles, nonplussed. "I think you should help me to peel off these clothes. Sound good to you?"

He resists the urge to tell Steven exactly how good this sounds, his hands moving deftly to pull his t-shirt off from him, disposing of Steven's boxers and his own fast enough to beat his former personal record.

They don't do anything straight away. Steven's in a strange mood tonight, or perhaps it's strange because Brendan's still so unused to being with someone like this, without the rush and the frantic need to make someone come as soon as possible, then see them leave just as quickly.

Steven lies full length on top of him, Brendan stroking down his back as the boy works himself up to arousal, his cock pressed against their stomachs, his lips ghosting along Brendan's neck. The rest of the time he's almost completely still, and Brendan only knows by the feel and slight sound of Steven's breathing that he's alive at all. He's content like this, in a way that he never knew he could be. There's something peaceful about moving his hands over the boy's smooth and golden back, feeling how skinny and fragile he is, but never forgetting what the boy's capable of doing with his body; the way that he can make Brendan roar like he's not even human.

He almost dozes until hot, sucking kisses are placed on his chest and over his nipples. A hand begins to wrap around his dick, its movements on him making him open his eyes and stare down at what Steven's doing, needing to see this. The boy still appears sleepy himself, his body sluggish, his kisses sparse before they move onto another area of skin, actions designed to make him want to fuck him.

He doesn't need persuasion. Brendan throws the covers off from around them, not wanting anything to be concealed. He bundles Steven into his arms, both of them sitting up in the bed on their knees now. Brendan places his thumbs over Steven's cheeks, cajoling the boy to open his mouth wider and let his tongue roam into its depths. Steven's gathering his energy back, and Brendan allows the boy to manhandle him onto the pillow again, Steven turning around, planting his body in front of Brendan, arse propped before his lips.

Brendan chuffs a laugh, his hand finding the spot between Steven's spine and the beginning of his arse, stroking across it until the boy begins to moan.

"_Please_."

Perhaps Steven likes begging, because fuck he's good at it. He pitches his voice just right, just the precise amount of desperation and hunger and need for Brendan's dick to be inside of him, until Brendan can't refuse him anything.

"Anything you want, Steven." He means it.

He doesn't feel like experiencing the tight, warm, soft inside of Steven against his fingers today. He wants to _taste_ it. He still has the memory of the shower that they had this morning, and the way that Steven had felt against his tongue as he'd licked him open. It's something that he could get addicted to, something that he already _is_ addicted to.

The boy grips against the end of the bed, his hands moving from the sheets to the frame, giving him something solid to hold onto while Brendan stretches him. Steven's head is hanging down, his neck fully exposed. If Brendan was capable of concentrating on anything other than Steven's entrance then he'd take advantage and bite down on the skin there, making it red and raw.

There's so much pent up frustration in both of them. Brendan can feel it coursing through their bodies, as though they truly believe that if they just kiss and fuck each other hard enough, then everything else will simply cease to exist. He's determined to test that theory, even if the knowledge that everything will still be there in the morning paralyses him afterwards.

Once he's thoroughly wetted Steven's hole he sheathes up and enters the boy in one swift movement. Steven leans forward even further, chewing down on his own damn hand to deal with the way that his body's being invaded. He's whispering things that Brendan has to strain closer to hear, _yes, that's it, right there,_ and Brendan wonders where in the hell the boy learnt this, to be this wanton and adoring and so fucking determined to take what's his.

Brendan closes his eyes, getting lost in the sensations and the sound of Steven coming apart, rocking on all fours and pushing back against Brendan's arse when the Irishman stills in his movements. He's fucking himself on Brendan's cock, and Brendan stops pummelling into his heat just to watch him, just to see how he flexes his arse and groans as he gives himself the pleasure that he believes he deserves, the pleasure that Brendan's regarded as a sin his entire life.

He could try to say it now, again. He could tell Steven that he loves him, and to never leave him. To make him realise how important he is to the world, fucking imperative. But he doesn't want to scare him.

Instead Brendan braces himself, two hands against Steven's back as he builds himself up to orgasm. He howls Steven's name just as loudly as Steven screams his, and when he pulls the boy into his arms it's with the knowledge that he might not be so lucky to have him tomorrow.


	29. Chapter 29

Ste's had a fitful sleep. He could sense Brendan awake the entire night beside him. He didn't have to look at him to see that there would be lines etched with worry on his face, his body rigid, peace evading him.

Brendan puts on a good show when he sees Ste's eyes drift open, yawning and stretching to make it look as though he's only just woken too. He settles an arm closer around Ste, his body warm and inviting. The boy plays idly with his chest hair as he gradually gets his energy back from the previous night. He could use a caffeine boost but it's frustratingly out of reach. It's going to feel like a novelty, being able to get out of bed to make himself a cup of coffee again when he's released. He hopes he'll never take it for granted, the feeling of freedom.

He's going to call Amy and the kids today. An uneasy feelings washed over him, and he needs to talk to them before everything kicks off. He can't let what could possibly be his last conversation with Leah and Lucas be about play dates and stuffed animals - it needs to be something important, something that leaves them with no doubt as to how much he loves them. He'll lie about being in bloody Benidorm if he has to, but he can't let them feel like he's abandoned them.

If the worst case scenario happens and it's Brendan in the firing line then he still wants to speak to them, for his kids to hear what his voice is like when he's still intact, still human. When grief hasn't numbed him.

Ste gathers the covers over his naked body, feeling a shiver go through him. The sparseness and coldness of the prison bedding didn't exist last night; he had his own personal heater next to him. He feels a prickle of guilt for the way he'd held onto Brendan in the middle of the night, waking from his dreams about dark corridors and blood on the walls to find himself gripping onto the older man. Brendan had coaxed him back to sleep by kissing against his hair and stroking Ste's thighs, calming him down until he felt safe again.

No wonder Brendan looks exhausted.

"Morning," he says at last, letting go of his attempt at drifting between unconsciousness and his waking state.

"Morning."

Ste ducks when Brendan tries to kiss him.

"My breath must be rank."

"You really think I care about that? Come on, you never used to mind..." He begins laying a trail of kisses across Ste's cheeks until he relinquishes, turning his face and granting the man access to his mouth.

Ste's sure that Brendan's already brushed his teeth. He can taste the mint in his mouth, and it makes him imagine Brendan rising from the bed earlier, allowing himself time to worry about today, and thinking _too_ much, too much because Brendan's mind has a habit of working against the both of them, making him attempt to be a martyr and give up Ste for the greater good.

Ste scans his eyes, trying to decipher if he can see a change, a vacancy there.

Brendan laughs at him. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I'm not," Ste says defensively. It gives him an answer, however insubstantial. A smile's appearing on the corners of Brendan's lips, tentative but present, and Ste lies back and watches as Brendan begins to get dressed. He can see the way that he's fumbling over the button's of his shirt, and Ste rises and stands before him, replacing Brendan's hands with his own.

"You don't have to -"

"I want to." He does them up, leaving the last button at the top loose. He likes the peek of chest hair that shows through. Brendan gives him a knowing look, smiling that cocky smile that reassures Ste that everything's going to be okay.

"It's alright to be scared you know."

Brendan's smile falters, and Ste can't help but feel as though his words are a mistake. Perhaps this is the way that Brendan wants to play it, to avoid the messiness of feelings, to not let Warren have access to them.

"I'm not scared."

Ste knows he is, knows that a man like Brendan has more reasons to be scared than anyone. He doesn't draw attention to it, doesn't want to stand the risk of alienating him. Once Brendan steps out of this room there's a danger that he'll be a different person entirely; harder, less easy to reach. Like he'll be putting a mask on for Warren's sake, and Ste won't see a glimpse of the real Brendan until they're alone again.

He doesn't want to interrupt the man from putting on his armour, from transforming into what he thinks he needs to be in order to do this. Even the clothes he's picked out today seem carefully considered, selected to make him look like a dominating and commanding presence, an all black uniform that accentuates the muscles lying underneath.

"Maybe it'll help to talk to Des about this." It's the only thing he can think of. As much as he wants to believe that his words alone are capable of healing Brendan, he knows that they're in more serious territory than that. He can't give Brendan what Des can, can't be impartial, isn't trained at this. Ste feels like he doesn't know what the fuck he's doing most of the time in his own life. He's not qualified to guide Brendan through his, especially not when he's so close to him that everything he does affects him as though they're his own actions, his own screw ups and triumphs.

Brendan stares at him in disbelief, his hand playing with the skin of his neck as though Ste's words have buried their way in there and he's trying to force them out.

"You're expecting me to see Desmond today?"

"We talked about this remember? Everyday." He has to be clear about this. He feels faintly ridiculous for giving instructions to a grown man, for essentially blackmailing him into doing something that's clearly painful for him. But if the violence doesn't go then he does.

"Steven, how am I meant to be able to concentrate for fifty minutes when I know that you'll be alone?"

"I'll be fine. I'll stay with Doug and Ethan the entire time."

Brendan laughs, low in his throat. "Have you seen them? They're not equipped to be bodyguards. They'd probably get tired after five minutes on a treadmill."

Ste can't argue with that. He'd once seen Doug struggle to open a jar before admitting defeat, face red and veins bulging on his arms.

"Maybe I can go back to Desmond after all this ends."

"You say that, but if you get out of it now then you'll never go back, will you?" He knows how these things work. It's excuses on top of excuses, coming up with reasons not to go, and they'll always be more reasons against it; fear, not having the time, not connecting with the therapist, not believing that you need it. Ste's walked down this path too many times himself to be fooled by this. They'll never be a right moment.

"Look, how about I stay with Lynsey? She'll be setting up for class after breakfast. I'm sure she won't mind me staying there if we talk to her."

Ste can see him considering it, knowing he just has to push that little bit more and he'll get what he wants; Brendan in that room and talking, scratching away at the surface of everything that's happened in his thirty two years, everything that's made him find it so impossible to feel normal.

"Warren's hardly going to try anything with a member of staff and a dozen witnesses there, is he? He might be an idiot but he's not going to want to get sent down any longer."

"I don't know, Steven." Brendan's voice has turned dark, introspective. It frightens Ste sometimes when he gets like this. Like he's becoming more out of reach and even his tone and mannerisms sound different, look different. "Once a man gets sent down for murder, he's got little to lose."

Ste makes a grab for his boxers and t-shirt. If he's going to attempt a rousing speech, something convincing, then he doesn't want to be standing in front of Brendan with his cock and balls on display. He puts his hands on the man's shoulders, making it more difficult for him to turn away. He needs this to sink in.

"_You _wouldn't do that though, would you? You wouldn't hurt someone who hadn't done anything wrong. You wouldn't kill again." He doesn't want Brendan to think that he's the same as Warren, can hear the edge to his voice, the way it sounds like he's talking about himself like he's coldblooded, incapable of redemption.

There's a shake to Brendan's voice when he speaks. His eyes flutter from Ste's face and away again.

"No. No, I wouldn't."

Ste doesn't entirely believe him. It alarms him further that he still means what he said last night; he can live with it, can live with the chaos and the fractured nature of the man, how sometimes it feels like there's more than one version of Brendan - _his_ Brendan, the person who Ste believes wants to build a life away from this place, a life with him and the kids. The Brendan who fights to protect him, who's generous when he thinks no one's watching, and romantic in ways that Ste never imagined. Ste can take that other Brendan, the Brendan who's in here for murder, whose dealt drugs, whose got anger inside of him that he hasn't yet managed to control.

He can deal with that, all of that. He thinks of the man he was five years ago, a man who intimidated and dominated and made the people he loves afraid. If Brendan's flawed, then he's flawed beside him. He understands.

"Please, just try not to worry, yeah?" He knows that asking this is an impossibility, akin to asking Doug not to be American. He wishes he could ease the look from Brendan's eyes, the look that speaks of more pain than Ste's ever seen before, that can't be touched by simple reassurances.

"Alright." He speaks it slowly as though sounding out the word, not liking its result. "But you promise me that you won't leave Lynsey?"

"I promise." He has no intention of straying from the sight of the staff, not now that the threat seems more real somehow, Brendan's nervousness transferring to him.

Brendan nods, seemingly placated. Ste can scarcely believe that he's agreeing to this at all, was sure that he'd refuse point blank to go anywhere near the therapy centre today. He smiles to himself as he begins to get dressed. The give and take, the compromise - it almost feels like a relationship, a proper one.

The idea's addictive and now that it's in his head it blooms, making him think of things outside of these walls. Brendan in the flat, in his bedroom. Brendan meeting Leah and Lucas, and eventually the two of them growing comfortable with him, familiar. Any initial frostiness between Amy and Brendan lessening when she grows to understand that the exterior doesn't always equal the interior; when she learns to look beyond the tattoos and the moustache and the sheer build of him, beyond his sentence and into the person underneath, the person who Ste wants to share his life with.

He feels giddy. Light headed and childlike, making plans in his head that have sprung there at the most inconvenient time, when he's meant to be focusing on the immediate danger. Now that it's formed he can't get it out, and he softly hums to himself as he slips into his clothes, only noticing when he's fully dressed that Brendan's staring at him like he's a madman.

"What?" He asks, feeling suddenly self aware, conscious of his own actions and how they must have seemed. The insensitivity there when a storm must be brewing in Brendan's head, his own thoughts littered with ways of keeping them both safe.

"Nothing."

"No, go on. You were looking at me." He won't be able to rest until he knows what Brendan was thinking.

"You're beautiful, Steven."

Ste doesn't think he's ever heard Brendan speak with such bare conviction. It makes him look away, feeling undeserving of such high praise.

"That's what I was thinking. Now let me take you to Lynsey."

* * *

"I really don't have time for this today."

He doesn't care if he hurts the man's feelings. He has better places to be, better things he could be doing. Watching over Steven instead of sitting in a silent room, a stranger staring across at him with probing eyes. He can't assess a damn thing about Desmond's reactions, doesn't know if the man thinks he's unfixable, a lost cause. Most of all Brendan doesn't know why he cares, why it's somehow so important that Desmond doesn't look at him and see something ruined, tarred.

Desmond still doesn't speak, simply turns his head to the side thoughtfully. Brendan's already sick to death of this psychological bullshit - of Desmond remaining so impartial, not even flinching when Brendan bares his teeth in a grimace, trying his utmost to appear deranged, thinking that perhaps he can scare the man into letting him leave.

"Cat got your tongue?" Brendan goads, leaning forward in his seat and staring the man down. Desmond's face remains like carefully constructed plaster, unmoving. Unlike plaster however, there's warmth there. Something behind his eyes which makes Brendan uncomfortable. Something like empathy.

His hands move to the arms of his chair, drumming onto them, nails digging into the material. After he'd made a rather dramatic exit by punching into it the last time he'd half expected Desmond to remove it from the room, making him sit in the corner like a naughty schoolboy. The bed's still an unsettling elephant in the room. Brendan's eyes flicker to it and away again.

"You seem agitated."

Brendan snorts. When the man does speak it's these observations, nothing that Brendan can easily use and twist against him.

"No shit Sherlock."

He waits for Desmond to tell him off for swearing, to press him further, asking him why his hands are moving so erratically, what's weighing on his mind that's making him lose control in front of him. He'd usually be doing everything in his power to shut a man like Desmond out, to let nothing slip past the radar - no emotions, not even a single insight into his mind.

When Desmond doesn't ask him it only incenses Brendan more, and his mouth seems to open of its own accord, as though it's beyond Brendan's control completely. It scares him to be this helpless, suddenly needing someone to talk to because he can't confide in the one person he most desires to. To admit his own fears to Steven would be passing on his agitation to the boy. If Steven truly is crazy enough to love him then he didn't fall in love with this - this nervous, crumbling man whose eyes are increasingly turning red and misty from the workings of his mind, from imagining the what ifs; what if Warren hurts Steven, what if Brendan can't stop him.

Steven must have fallen for someone stronger, someone who would have never let Warren terrify him so completely.

"I'm going to lose him."

He regrets it the moment it spills from his lips, can't believe that he's been so stupid to say it. He never tells anyone these things, hasn't uttered a Goddamn word in the years that he's been in here about what plagues his mind in the darkness of his cell, that causes the nightmares that have felt achingly real, so real that he wakes believing that Seamus is in the room with him.

It all began with Steven. He's told the boy more than he ever thought he'd tell anyone and it's opened a Pandora's box. It's made him think that rejection won't always befall him, that perhaps the world isn't full of people whose only intention is to hurt and humiliate him.

But he can't start believing that. It's never the way he's lived, not since he was a child and that innocence and belief was ripped from him so violently. He doesn't want to be that vulnerable again.

"This is the man that you're with?" Despite his words Desmond's voice is like a soothing balm, and Brendan can feel some of the pain ebb away. He stops attacking the chair with his hands, instead trying to keep them still and not start to make his palms sore by digging his nails into the flesh like he did the last time he was here. He's seen the results of self harm in prison, seen as men slice themselves open with whatever they can get their hands on; knives, forks, paperclips.

That's not him, not even close, never has been. But sometimes he does it without even noticing, an unconscious way to try to provide relief from the thoughts that descend on him, that are more painful than any punch into a glass mirror could be. He wonders if Desmond has written that down as one of his notes - that he's tried to hurt himself just as much as he hurts other people. Perhaps the man can't see a single shred of normality in him at all.

Brendan knows that he's waiting for an answer to his question, and wonders if he can truly give it. It makes it more real, vocalising these things which have infested themselves underneath his skin, worming their way inside. His all encompassing concern for Steven and what could happen today. His guilt about leaving him, that even with Lynsey watching over him he still fears that the boy will be harmed. If Brendan wanted to do damage to someone then he wouldn't let a teacher stand in his way, least of one who weighs less than a hundred and twenty pounds and barely looks like she could support more than five books in her arms at one time.

When he begins to talk, he tells himself that it's for selfish reasons. That perhaps if he fills the room with meaningless chatter then the time will go quicker and he won't have to focus on the clock, wondering if Steven's already in Warren's eyesight, already in his clutches.

Except it doesn't feel meaningless.

"Yeah. Steven." Even saying his name sounds private, personal. "I feel...I feel like I'm going to lose him."

Brendan looks down at the floor, wondering how many people have placed their feet in this exact same position, their backs against this very same chair. He can't be the only person that Desmond's seeing. How can the man possibly remember anything that anyone tells him, when surely the facts are replaced by the next man, and the one after him?

Maybe that's why Desmond has a bed - because he wants to not have to face the men, instead merely pretending that he's listening while he does a crossword in the corner of the room, or perhaps risk a nap while the men drone on and on.

Brendan looks at him from under his lashes, trying to sneakily see if the man's still even looking at him, still listening.

He never takes his eyes off Brendan.

"I've done...things. You've probably heard all about me, haven't you? Why I'm in here."

He tries to speak with some semblance of pride. The notorious Brendan Brady who everyone knows. Only his voice betrays him, shame creeping in. Sometimes he wishes he had no real reason to be known at all, that he could pass through this place like Steven, his only crime being trying to provide for his kids, however idiotic his methods were.

"Come on, Desmond," he prompts further. "You must have read my case file"

"I read everyones backgrounds and history before I take them on as a client."

Brendan huffs a laugh. _Client_. It sounds so distinctly clinical, masking it for what it truly is. He's heard some of the staff calling the prisoners patients before, as if they're all doctors and nurses in a hospital, in charge of the criminally insane. Not once during his time here has he ever been referred to as a client.

"Then you'll know why Steven should stay away from me."

"It doesn't sound like you want him to."

Brendan shuffles in his seat, unable to know how to answer that. Of course he doesn't want Steven to stay away. Before him his life was empty, was cold and devoid of any hope imaginable. But that doesn't mean that Brendan should be so cruel to drag him down with him, to make the boy exist in the same darkness that he does. Steven's got the option of going somewhere, of being a success, of meeting a man that could offer him something better. He can feel the green snake of jealousy rising in his gut as the idea begins to form. Just because he knows that Steven deserves more it doesn't mean that Brendan wants it.

The images that are appearing behind his eyes are punishing, taunting him relentlessly. Steven kissing another man who's not him. Introducing him to his family, and his boyfriend being someone who Amy accepts, welcoming him with open arms. Steven walking down the street hand in hand with this man, when Brendan can only hold his in the privacy of his cell.

"I'll hurt him eventually."

Brendan's barely even aware of Desmond being in the room now, is doing this for himself because he needs to get this out, needs to stop it from poisoning his mind any longer.

"That's the whole reason that Steven wants me to come here, to see you. I almost hit him. I pushed him onto the floor, bruised his back. First night I met him I shoved him against a wall. He didn't even do anything wrong. He never does. It's me...it's all me."

He couldn't stop now if he wanted to. The silence in the room is somehow giving him permission to carry on, the lack of interruptions providing him with some sense of reassurance that he's allowed to be like this, to say these things. He's not being scolded or thrown out or punished.

"I don't know how to stop. Afterwards...I can never believe that I've touched him. I'd kill anyone who did."

He considers adding that it's a figure of speech, but they're in a prison for fucks sake, and he's already passed that point of no return, committed the act that there's no way back from. If Desmond's shocked by his admission then he doesn't show it.

"I can't control my anger." It sounds alien to say it, to admit that there's a single thing in his life that he can't bend to his will, making it the way he wants it to be. He thought he had rein over everything, but not this. Never this.

"I think I'll hit him one day, and then he'll leave me."

He's exhausted by trying to deny it, by pretending that when he says it'll never happen again that he's certain. He's _not_ certain, can never be because it's ever present, this ability for his temper to rise until it eventually explodes, with the people he loves paying the highest price. He wishes that it was only the Silas's and Warren's of this world who would bear the brunt of his anger, because if he lost them then he'd lose nothing. But it's Macca, it's Vincent and it's Steven, the one who means the most.

"What do you think about when you're angry, Brendan?"

The questions disarms him, but he tries desperately to think of an answer. For the first time in his life he feels something like determination to conquer this thing that's been a constant shadow looming over him. He wants to destroy the very heart of it and to be someone else. The better version of himself.

"I don't know," he trails off, unable to identify the thought process that goes on behind it. There _aren't_ any thoughts when he's spiralling out of control, fury and black, hot hatred rising in him. There's nothing rational there, nothing in his mind that can calm him down, that can stop him from drawing blood and watching as he tears into flesh and creates open, leaking wounds.

"It's just noise," he says, because that's what it feels like. All he can hear is sound, impossibly loud and echoing around the room, like an alarm that will only cease when he hits the person who's causing the chaos.

"That's all there is."

He expects Desmond to be disappointed with him, to think that he's not working hard enough to hunt for what's inside. Brendan can't understand how the man's expression is still compassionate. It makes him think of Steven, forever seeking out the good in him, forever believing that it's there, even when he's only shown the boy the opposite.

"What does Steven do to make you want to hit him?"

Brendan can hear the subtext behind it; what does he _think_ that Steven does. What does he create in his mind that's so bad that the boy deserves to be hurt for it.

"He makes me feel weak, because he makes me feel. And that's...I'm not supposed to feel. I'm not allowed."

"Why not? Who's not allowing you?"

Brendan shrugs his shoulders, but it's too deliberate, too heavy with tension to be nonchalant.

"I'm not allowed," he repeats, willing for Desmond not to press it. This is why he'd hated this whole idea. Things unravel in this room. Truths are unlocked that should have stayed hidden. His life will be written about in another case file, another report that will somehow be used against him, like everything has been before. The words on a page will never be able to do justice to the feelings behind it, to how hard he finds everything. He imagines Desmond's untidy scrawl; _client shows no remorse for his own acts, client is aggressive, a psychopath, client cannot love anything. _

Brendan's holding back angry tears now, tears which have been brimming underneath the surface for years, waiting for their time to catch him unaware and strike. He won't let them. He hates himself when he cries, hates how he looks like a little lost boy, sparking memories of a time when he used to call for help, for someone to save him. A time when he believed that villains were killed and the hero would prevail, until the day that he became a villain too.

* * *

It's the second time that he's run from the therapy centre, only this time it's not red hot fury that's driving his footsteps. When Desmond tells him that their session's over Brendan frantically rises from his seat, not murmuring a word of goodbye before he's out the door, the narrowed eyes of the woman at reception on him, distrustful after the scene that he caused the last time that he was here.

He ignores the stitch that he's getting in the side of his chest, moving with abandon, shoving people out of his path like they're mere insects that he's squashing. He panics when he thinks he's taken a wrong turn, that he's nowhere near the English classroom. It's only when he takes a moment to stop and work out his bearings that he realises he's close. He completes the distance until he's in the hallway where Steven and Lynsey are, and he looks through the small window to the room inside.

His heart lurches when he sees Lynsey, his eyes trailing over the men inside who are beginning to pack their equipment away. Brendan searches for Steven's face, for the head of golden hair and the tanned skin, for the smile that will stop him from feeling like his pulse is flittering at an alarming rate, fear all but paralysing him.

He mind starts playing tricks on him, making him see the boy in the faces of the other men, some of similar build and age. He could claw at his skin in frustration when they're not Steven. He stops watching from afar, bursting into the room instead and startling Lynsey, every one of the men turning in his direction to see the source of the interruption.

"Where's Steven?" He's shouting now, chest rising and falling rapidly, undiluted anxiety washing over him. He's sure that Warren's taken him, sure that Steven's lying on the cold concrete floor somewhere, blood seeping from his body, and Brendan was in a fucking therapy session and did nothing to stop it, let Warren kill him, and _Jesus_ he'll never forgive himself. This is the end of him too.

Then he hears a voice, that Mancunian accent that floods through Brendan and makes light and warmth replace the dread that was gathering moments before.

"I'm here, it's okay." The boy's standing in the corner, the only place in the classroom that Brendan's eyes couldn't reach from behind the window. It's so typical of Steven that he wants to laugh. He just _had_ to scare him like that, had to defy him and make him think that something had happened, something irreversible that would have a ripple effect, that would have made Brendan charge from the room and search for Warren until he'd found and killed him.

"Jesus Steven, don't ever do that to me again."

He doesn't care that there are at least ten other men in here watching with barely concealed fascination, the most feared man in this place beckoning the boy towards him, bundling him into his arms and enveloping him into a tight hug. Brendan ignores their shocked gazes, closing his own eyes and pulling Steven as close as he can get him, making himself believe that he's not an apparition or a figment of his imagination. He's here, he's real. He's _alive_.

"Oi, I can't breathe here."

He feels Steven struggling in his arms and Brendan reluctantly loosens his grip, slowly allowing the boy to have access to the air that he'd been robbed of, robbed because in that moment there was nothing on this earth more important than holding him and knowing that he's still safe, still Brendan's to keep.

Brendan begins to feel under inspection from the other men, seeing them turning in their seats to mutter into each others ears, clearly alarmed at the speed of which everything's changing. They've never seen Brendan like this before, never seen him in love and desperately clinging onto another man like they're imperative to his survival. Brendan knows how it must look.

He offers Lynsey an apologetic smile of sorts, taking Steven by the hand and leading him into the corridor outside where they can be alone. The moment that the door closes Steven is full of questions.

"Are you alright? Has something happened? Why were you acting like that?"

Brendan silences him with a hand on the boy's chest. He wants to feel his heart beating. It's reassuring, the steady and constant sound of it.

"Brendan, you're scaring me."

He never wants to do that, knows that he's done it far too many times already, more than he should be forgiven for.

"Let's go to the canteen."

Steven looks confused, his eyes travelling over Brendan's face as though he's trying to decipher the cause of his previous panic and the abrupt change of subject.

"I'm not hungry."

"It's not up for discussion. We're getting lunch."

He's being unreasonable about this, being bossy and not listening to what Steven wants, but he has to concentrate on the normal and the mundane, feels like if he doesn't at least try to get on with his life then everything will permanently come crashing down around him. Steven's regained some of the weight that he lost, but not enough for Brendan's liking, his trousers still hanging loosely on him, his arms looking like they could snap in two.

He doesn't want Warren to see him like this, thinking that he's ripe for the picking. He can already imagine Fox's eyes glazing over, his pants tightening sickeningly with the promise of the power he could have over the boy, the way that he could kill him with minimal effort. Brendan's not naive enough to think that a serving of dried, cold prison food will change Warren's mind about coming after Steven, but he has to do _something_; make sure that Steven looks at least like a contender, someone who won't break like a twig in the breeze.

He's relieved when Steven doesn't argue back, instead allowing himself to be lead to the dining room. Brendan forgets about his own lunch as he piles Steven's plate high instead, charming the canteen staff into adding extra portions.

"I hope you'll share some of this with me," Steven says, staring at the meal which is already weighing his arms down. Brendan merely continues gathering up food, intent and on a mission, pretending that he can't see the way in which the boy's staring at him in concern.

Brendan's eyes drift around the room, settling onto Walker's, the man staring at him from his table, the one that he's made his own since Brendan's departure, Kevin in his former place. He watches as Walker looks between him and Steven, his proposition echoing in Brendan's mind. He wants to share some of this with someone, someone who can protect Steven, but there's still a part of him that's waiting for Walker to trip him up, betrayal still at the forefront of his mind. It's not a risk that Brendan's willing to take.

When it happens, it feels like it's in slow motion. Brendan turns back to Steven and watches as the tray that he was holding moments before drops to the ground. He's sure that it only takes a matter of seconds before it reaches its destination, but it feels like he can see everything as it happens; see the food fall through the air, the mess of onion and gravy and roast potatoes hitting the floor, see as the tray crashes, the sound altering the other men and making them turn in their direction.

He waits for the screaming to start, instead feeling somehow deafened by the silence. Steven doesn't utter a word, forgetting about the tray the moment that it escapes from his grip, his entire body and attention focused only on Warren standing before them. He's covered in a multitude of bruises and marks, not an inch of his face free from them. If you look closely there's still the imprint of the shoe that smashed into his right cheek as Brendan kicked him. He knows that the real extent of the damage lies underneath the fabric of his clothes, that Warren's ribs are coloured with purple and yellow.

He limps when he begins walking towards them, his expression neutral and all the more terrifying for it. He shouldn't be here at all. If he was an ordinary member of the public then he would still be holed up in the hospital, but Brendan's seen countless men before him arrive back to prison a day after they were connected to a life support machine. Hospitals need beds and a prisoner gets no sympathy, even if they have just been beaten into a coma.

Brendan moves closer towards Steven, steering the boy behind him, out of reach. He sees a flicker of a smile appear on Warren's face, and Brendan realises with sinking dread that he can't win. If he protects Steven then he's making his feelings for him increasingly more apparent, but if he distances himself then the boy's still being placed under danger.

Walker rises from his seat as Warren steps closer, and Brendan feels the smallest semblance of loyalty from the man, can see the way that Walker's body is tensing, preparing for a fight if that's what it takes.

"Brady. Rat boy." Warren nods between them like this is a long awaited reunion between friends. Brendan crosses his arms, a further attempt to barricade Steven off from the man.

He's got a choice here. He can stay in the room and show Warren that he won't be intimated, that he's going to guard Steven from him with his life, not relenting until the day that Steven's out of those gates, finally free.

Or he can do the thing that he's never done before, and walk away. Walk back to his cell and not have to stare into Warren's cold, dark eyes and his smirk that already suggests he's won.

Before he's even aware of what he's doing, Brendan takes Steven by the arm and walks from the room, breaking into a run when they're out of sight of Warren, their combined panting breaths revealing the spark of terror that's been contained for weeks, now releasing itself and roaming wild.


	30. Chapter 30

Ste's never seen him like this before. Brendan's sitting on the floor of his cell, head between his hands as he takes deep breaths which do nothing to dispel his anxiety. The moment that they'd left the canteen Brendan hadn't stopped walking until they'd reached the safety of the room, ignoring Ste struggling in his arms, trying to go back.

This isn't like Brendan. He never runs from anything.

Ste looks down at him, anger rising in him steadily like a ticking time bomb. He's not sure whether it's Brendan that he's mad at or the whole fucking situation. He wants to release it somehow, all the pent up rage that he's been holding onto for too long. He's masked his fear about Warren's return, placing it away in a corner of his mind that he tried not to have access to.

Seeing him in the dining room had brought it all back to him with alarming intensity; the memory of seeing Warren raping Ethan pressing down on Ste, embedded under his skin. He hates the scene that he caused, hates how the tray had slipped from his hands without being able to control it.

Maybe if he'd just stayed calm, hadn't alerted all the other men to their presence then he wouldn't have transferred that nervous energy onto Brendan, and he wouldn't have dragged him from the room.

"What were you thinking?" He's shouting, directing his helplessness at Brendan, the man staring up at him with exhausted, shrunken eyes. "Running away like that, that's not going to make Warren think you're guilty at all, is it?"

Ste's already staring at the door, wondering how long it will take until Warren comes to find them, the man certain now that he knows who was responsible for the attack. Ste's frustration only grows when Brendan remains silent, hugging his knees to his chest, drawing his body further in, a defensive gesture that's so unlike the Brendan that he knows, the man who commands a room when he walks into it, the man who runs this place like it's his kingdom.

"Brendan, did you hear me?" He knows he did, _of course_ he did, but Ste needs answers, something that he can hold onto. "We just showed him that we're afraid, that we've done something wrong."

He hears his voice then, low and broken, barely a whisper.

"I would have killed him, Steven. If I'd stayed there any longer...I would have killed him."

"No you wouldn't," Ste says, only half sure because the Brendan in his head isn't a murderer, isn't the monster that he thinks he is. But he knows that truth lies there, had seen the way that Brendan had moved him out of reach, not only to ensure his safety but to be closer to Warren, close enough to attack.

"For the first time I've got something to lose." Brendan's eyes are on the floor, his shoulders hunched as though it hurts to speak these words, hurts to vocalise such raw need for another person. "I could either stay there and kill him, or come back here with you."

Ste leans against the wall, pressing his forehead onto it, desperately trying to drum something into himself with each touch of his skin against the cold plaster. He needs to find something that'll make this right, can't be living in this world where Brendan's talking about blood being shed and lives being expelled like it's nothing, like it doesn't matter and it doesn't mean a damn thing.

"It's all going to end, isn't it?

Ste breaks from his reverie, the sheer sorrow of Brendan's voice feeling like a stabbing, aching pain in his chest.

"What?"

"You and me," Brendan mumbles into his knees, mouth rubbing against the material of his trousers. "It's never going to stop. Warren...I'm not sure I can make it stop."

Ste can't stand it any longer. He crouches down and lays a hand on Brendan's shoulder, has an overwhelming instinct to hold him.

"Brendan..." he begins, but Brendan shrugs him off, rising from his sitting position and moving away from the proximity of Ste's hands and touch. Ste realises with a shuddering breath that Brendan's crying. It startles him, the shock of it making his hands still in mid air, useless. It hurts to see someone so strong crumbling before him, tears cascading down Brendan's cheeks, the Irishman not even attempting to hide them or look away. He's wearing his pain openly now, almost daring Ste to leave him for it, to see his true nature and reject it.

Ste's not going anywhere.

"Brendan, please." It comes out as a desperate begging plea. He can cope with anything but Brendan shutting him out, and he makes a frantic attempt to move closer to the man and try to reach him by whatever means possible, his hands grappling to touch Brendan's face, his arms, his chest. The Irishman fights him off, letting out a strangled _no_ as though it's choking him.

"I deserve this, Steven." He's spitting now, his words violently torn from him, and Ste can't bear to look at how much Brendan hates himself, desires nothing more than to make him see how much he loves him, how he would do anything for him. When Brendan gets like this it feels impossible to reach him. He doesn't _want_ to be reached, wants to revel in the darkness because it's something familiar; however much it torments him he knows what it is, knows what's it's like to experience.

"This is my punishment, isn't it? For all the things I've done. I lose the one thing that I..."

Brendan staggers around the room, emotion making his movements clumsy and uncoordinated. Ste barely manages to keep up, trying to follow the man and make sure that he doesn't fall like he looks so in danger of doing. He can barely make sense of his words, disjointed and spoken through heaving breaths, diluted by tears and angry sobs. Brendan's completely out of control and Ste needs to anchor him back to reality, needs him present and here with him.

Before he can even consider the insanity of what he's about to do, he grabs the nearest CD he can find, one of Brendan's Johnny Cash albums. He discards the case and positions the disc next to his arm, swallowing back his trepidation and watching as Brendan freezes, his eyes travelling between Ste and the object, his tears drying on his face.

"Steven, what are you doing?" He holds his hands up as though Ste's pointing a loaded weapon in his direction.

"If you don't stop and listen to me then I swear I'll do it." To emphasise his point he presses the sharp edge of the CD against his skin, digging it into his flesh.

Brendan begins to shake, his lips parted in shock.

"Put it down."

"Not until you listen to me."

Brendan's face is beginning to shine with sweat, his skin so white that it's almost transparent.

"Please stop."

Ste releases his grip on the disc but continues to hold it over himself. He can tell that his drastic measure has scared the man, but he needs to get through to him, and he doesn't think anything else will suffice.

"You don't deserve this." He says it with all the authority that he possesses. "You don't deserve any of this, and we're going to make it right. You're not going to lose me."

Brendan still doesn't get it, is muttering about God and hell and what he did to his own father, _you can't stay with me Steven, it's not safe, I'm not safe_, and Ste forgets about his foolish and reckless method to get Brendan's attention, needing to make a connection that currently feels severed. He throws the disc to the side and pulls Brendan into his arms, his hold suffocating, trying to give Brendan all the strength that he has. He can feel the older man's warm and salty tears against his cheek, and Ste turns his mouth to the side, removing them with his lips until there's not a single trace of them remaining.

Brendan's breath is hot in his ear, _fucking stupid thing to do Steven, could have cut yourself, could have got hurt and then where the fuck would we be, you're not just thinking for yourself anymore._ Ste wants to laugh at the hypocritical nature of the man, to tell him that that's his entire point. Brendan can't just start talking about losing him, because the loss weighs heavily on both their sides.

But he can't speak, can't concentrate on anything other than Brendan's arms around him, solid and so wonderfully safe. Tears still threaten to resume their path down Brendan's cheek but he seems less afraid now, back where Ste can reach him.

He wrangles between their bodies for Brendan's belt, cursing the man for continuing to wear one and make it that much harder to discard his clothes to get to the bare skin underneath. Brendan looks dazed, stupefied before he understands what Ste's doing, and then he's helping him, taking the belt and roughly throwing it to the floor when it's off, lifting up Ste's polo shirt and grazing his hands over his nipples, Ste pulling the man's trousers down.

He wants to stop Brendan from feeling like this, needs to stitch him back together piece by piece, calming the tumult and the blame that's sparking inside his head that makes Brendan believe that he's wrong. As Ste's hands work at Brendan's shirt buttons he wonders if he's taking advantage; Brendan's eyes are blank and impassive. It makes Ste want to bite down on his shoulder, trying to rouse him from his tormented daydream.

But Brendan's hands are assured and firm as they draw Ste closer, raking over his back and down his tracksuit bottoms, clenching the cheeks of his arse and emitting a soft groan from the boy's lips. Every movement and action is tender and gentle, and Ste loves it, loves how Brendan touches him and strokes his skin like he's rediscovering every inch of his body, the crevices and the parts reserved only for him.

But it's not enough today. Ste wants something more, something that'll make them momentarily forget the past and replace their minds with nothing but each other. He wants Brendan's hands in his hair, his groin rubbing harshly against his cock, his elbows keeping Ste down on the bed, unable to wrangle free from his hold. He trusts Brendan explicitly, nothing able to break that.

Ste gasps into his mouth when Brendan's hand strays down towards his hole, a single finger smoothing along his entrance. He fights to keep a whine of disappointment from escaping his mouth when Brendan doesn't press any deeper, his actions still restrained and frustratingly light, the merest of touches and not what he craves.

It's not working. He's trying to bring Brendan back to him but even now he's remote, his skin cold and the fervour that normally overtakes him when they're together like this vacant, replaced with Warren and Seamus and every other man whose ever made him feel weak.

"Don't you want this?" He asks, stuttering over his words and revealing the startling vulnerability underneath, because it's still impossible that he should be wanted this much by anyone. Ste's terrified of hearing the answer, of hearing some form of reluctance.

"Of course." Brendan sounds pained that he's even uttered those words, but Ste can't feel relief, just lets Brendan knows that he's hard by grinding his thigh in between the man's legs, willing for him to do something about it.

"Then show me, please."

Brendan lets out a ragged breath and his next command is laced with raw desire. There's too much distance between them, and they need to knock down those walls together.

"Take off your trousers, Steven."

Ste fumbles at them eagerly, almost tripping over in his haste to get them off, over his ankles and onto the floor. When Brendan's gaze flickers over him he doesn't contain his lust, a peek of his tongue appearing between his lips, and Ste doesn't have to look down at the man to know that he's half way there himself, a semi beginning to form in his boxers.

He wants to be bold. To capture Brendan's full attention and make him want him as ardently as he ever has. To replace the darkness with the light.

Ste gets a condom out of the drawer, but he doesn't turn around as he removes his boxers. There's silence behind him, the room alive with tension and the spark of anticipation. It's crackling in the air and Ste takes full advantage of it, bending over as his remaining clothes are stripped from him, the soft mounds of his arse cheeks and his pink, hair scattered hole on display.

It has the desired effect, and he feels Brendan's touch on his spine, running downwards towards his arse. When he turns round the Irishman's inches away from him, and their lips almost ghost together, warm, sweet air passing between them when they breathe. Brendan's eyelashes look more elongated that Ste's ever seen them, darkened by the tears which look close to reforming.

He can hardly bear to look at them. He kisses softly against his eyelids, transferring Brendan's tears onto his lips. He wishes that it was enough to make him heal. Brendan's still looks too detached, and it's with force that Ste pushes him down onto the bed, trying to do anything that'll make an impact and get through to his fragmented mind.

He can't let any ideas start to form in Brendan's head about giving him up. Ste's actions are intended to distract, anything to bring Brendan pleasure to replace the pain. When Brendan's lying against the pillow Ste crawls down his body, grasping the older man's cock in his palm before guiding it into his mouth. He registers the way that Brendan tips his head back slightly, legs twitching and stomach muscles clenching, and tries to believe that this is enough to make him come back to him, closing a door momentarily on everything else that's invading his mind.

Ste's never sucked off anyone like this before, never taken them down so deep and moved so fast. There's a frenzied desperation to his actions, _needs_ to bring Brendan to a climax and keep the threat of Warren out of the room, not allowing his presence to reach them here, the vivid images of him surrounding them. He can hear Brendan gasping above him, feel his hand stroking the strands of his hair, grasping it tighter when Ste's lips hit against the base.

Just as Ste feels the familiar signs of Brendan's orgasm, a hand taps against his shoulder. He looks up through hooded eyes, mouth unmoving on Brendan's dick, keeping it warm and wet for him.

"I don't want to come in your mouth. Come here."

Ste releases his dick and kisses along Brendan's stomach, the disappointment giving way to the knowledge of what's to come, watching as Brendan reaches over and starts taking the wrapper off the condom, snaking a hand down between their bodies and putting it on.

They don't stop, can't stop touching because everything feels too precarious, too delicate, and if they stop then they might not ever start again, might allow everything to come between them and create an everlasting distance.

Ste can feel the shudders going through Brendan's body, feels like heaving sobs but he's not crying now; it's the after effect of his tears.

It takes Ste less than twenty seconds to disentangle himself, moving from the bed to put on a Johnny Cash CD, the same one that he'd been threatening to slice himself open with moments before. Brendan stares at him hungrily when he walks towards him again, music now flooding the room. He knows the intention, knows that this is the boy's way of telling him that he wants it hard and fast, needing the music to drown out their sounds.

When Brendan climbs on top of him on the bed, Ste licks across the man's jaw, commanding in a breathy whisper, "do whatever you want to me."

Brendan leans back, confusion and a spark of fear clouding his features. Ste thought this was what he wanted, thought that he'd relish having any form of control. It's who Brendan is, what he does, but in the face of so much power he suddenly looks startled by it, unsure.

Ste props himself up on his elbows. "Please, Brendan. I mean it, do whatever you want."

Brendan strokes along Ste's neck with his fingers, movements light and barely there. He looks almost fascinated, staring in wonderment at what Ste's offering him.

"What do you mean?"

Ste doesn't admit that _he's_ not even sure what he means, just knows that he needs _something_, something to get Brendan present in the room with him, to stop the helplessness from leeching through. He's scared that asking him to go to Des was a bad idea; it seems to have opened a window into his past that was unexamined before, and now the defenses are crumbling around him.

"Just...here." Ste picks up his jumper from the floor, offering it to Brendan and lying close to the head of the bed. "Tie me." He remembers the glint of excitement in Brendan's eyes when he'd gagged him. The Irishman had felt in control then, had felt safe because he was leading, and Ste desperately needs him to feel like that again.

There's doubt in Brendan's eyes. "Steven..."

"I want you to," he reassures, and he feels his cock twitch in response. It thrills him, being dominated so completely by Brendan.

Brendan stares down at the jumper. "If you're sure."

Ste nods eagerly, wetting his lips. Brendan leans over him and slowly begins to tie his right arm to the railing of the bed. His actions are hesitant and fleeting at first, as though he's afraid of applying too much pressure, of hurting him. It's only when he stares down at Ste's groin that his expression begins to clear, his anxiety giving way to confidence, his hold on Ste becoming more firm.

"This is doing it for you?" He asks, observing the precome that's pooled at the slit of Ste's cock, how he's rock solid.

Ste doesn't reply with words, just arches into the touch when Brendan gives his cock long, spine tingling strokes. He gets lost to the feel of it, body tensing in frustration when Brendan removes his hand to tie up Ste's other arm.

"Is it too tight?"

"No."

It would take a fair amount of effort to get off the bed from the knots that Brendan's created, but there's no one else that he'd rather be at the mercy of.

Brendan leans back on his knees to survey Ste, and he feels a hint of self consciousness spread through him, being so under inspection like this. He's grown more comfortable with his own body since he met Brendan, but there's still that remnant of doubt in his mind, that voice that says that he's not good enough, that his features are too feminine, too delicate, too unconventional. It's as though Brendan's trying to challenge this theory, staring Ste down until he begins to feel like someone who people could want to look at, that he's worth something.

Brendan runs his hands along Ste's stretched arms, then begins kissing along the skin there, right from his shoulders to his hands, taking Ste's palm and laying soft kisses there. The prickle of his moustache would make Ste laugh if he wasn't so turned on. There's something about this, something dark and twisted and raw and vulnerable about being trapped here, spread out before Brendan like a prize.

Ste longs for him to increase the frequency of his kisses and caresses. As he can't move his arms he uses the rest of his body to coax and encourage and seduce. He rocks his arse in Brendan's direction, trying to prop it enough in the air to tempt Brendan and make him explore it with his fingers and tongue, before replacing them with his cock. He's so close to it that he can almost feel Brendan inside him, can recall the vivid memories of that first initial push as Brendan breaches his ring, Ste's hole feeling like it's spasming around the sheer size of the man and the fact that he's being invaded so completely.

"Fuck me." He wants to slick his hand with spit, wants it around Brendan's cock. Even though he knows it's futile he still tries to struggle, pulling on the ties and making the railings clatter.

Brendan watches with dark eyes, and just when Ste doesn't think he can take it any more the man leans over his naked body so that they're chest to chest, sweat sliding between them. Ste's eyes are driven closed by Brendan's kisses and he begins to forget about the ache settling around his arms from having them stretched above his head. Brendan's lips are distracting him, the soft pressure from his mouth moving against his.

He's vaguely aware of Brendan reaching between their bodies to line up his cock, and Ste breathes through the sting as his hole is driven into, gasping into Brendan's mouth and releasing a guttural groan. He wraps his legs around the man's waist, drawing him closer towards him, hands finding their way to Brendan's arse, a silent plea for Brendan to go in deeper.

Their noises are barely heard, muffled by the music, the twang of country and sixties rock and roll, and all that Ste can feel is Brendan. He tries to fuck into the man from below, lifting his hips and rotating them, but then he remembers that this was meant to be about _Brendan_, that Ste wanted to relinquish the reins and let this be up to him - the pace, the intensity, the dominance.

But once his movements shudder to a halt he feels wetness around his ear, and Brendan's voice whispering avidly.

"Do that again."

Ste raises his hips, matching Brendan's thrusts with his own skilled movements, milking Brendan's dick inside his arse until the Irishman's gripping his fingernails into the flesh of Ste's arms, creating marks which will take longer to heal than the ones that the jumper binding him will.

Ste's aware of movement outside, thinks for one horrifying moment that Warren's come to find them, but it's Darren. Ste's eyes widen as he sees the officer peer through the window, doing his routine checks. There's both surprise and the lack of it, the lack because because Darren's seen Brendan with men before, had been privy to Brendan and Vinnie's meetings, but he's still witnessing the sight of two men fucking, and he blinks several times before giving Ste a look of pure embarrassment, scuttling away before Brendan can follow Ste's line of sight.

Ste shuts his eyes, fighting through the shame that's come from being so exposed, so on display. He _needs_ things to be different, needs to feel normal and to _make_ this normal, not something that other people can play witness to, as though it's their right to invade his privacy and have access to such a personal moment. He wants to be able to close the door on them, to lock everyone else out and for it to just be him and Brendan. He could never get used to this way of life, knows that Brendan only has because he _has_ to. There's no other choice.

"Are you okay?"

Brendan's noticed his distance, the man's thrusts becoming slower as fear sparks through him - _is this what the boy wants?_ - but Ste pulls Brendan towards him with his legs, trying to reassure him.

"Untie me."

"What? But I thought you said -"

"I know what I said. But I want to come when I'm touching you. Everywhere."

Brendan's hands fumble around the knots in the jumper, struggling in his haste to get Ste free. When his arms are no longer bound he takes Brendan's face in his hands, tucking him into the crook of his neck while Brendan works them both to orgasm. Ste rakes his hands down Brendan's back, his release almost violent when it comes, his spunk spilling against his stomach and Brendan's.

He's come hands free, again, nothing more than Brendan's dick inside him to make him climax. He can hear the approval in Brendan's tone, "good boy", the only words that he manages before he collapses onto Ste, sucking lazy kisses against his neck, his dick still in him.

They keep their legs intertwined, enjoying the warmth and the feeling of being connected that's attached to it. But Ste can sense it, the dread and the panic creeping back in now that they're not lost to what their bodies can do to each other. It's dangerous when the distraction's not there. Ste can't regulate his thoughts, can't stop imagining Warren's face and the injuries that Brendan inflected on him. He can't understand if he's meant to feel an ounce of sympathy or guilt, and he understands even less why he doesn't. He'd started thinking it in the canteen, a gnawing thought that wouldn't leave him: he wishes that Brendan had killed Warren.

He knows what Amy would say to that, knows how she'd look at him. She'd think that prison has changed him, making him into someone not dissimilar to the men in here. Perhaps she's right. He'd never asked Brendan to implicitly hurt Warren, but when he found out what he'd done he hadn't considered ending things. Fuck, a part of him had even been pleased that Brendan had put an end to Ethan's terror and removed someone who was so poisonous.

What kind of monster does that make him?

Brendan disrupts his thoughts by pulling out and rolling off him, settling next to him on the bed. His cheeks are rosy, his lips rubbed raw by what Ste's done to him. He looks calmer now, and when he closes his eyes it's with an air of peacefulness. It allows Ste that same peace.

"Never do that again, Steven."

Ste's eyes snap open. "What?"

"Threaten to hurt yourself."

It already seems distant, a foolish prank to get Brendan's attention in order to stop him from being so trapped by his own fears.

"I was only messing around."

Brendan stares at him, his expression devoid of humour. "You think that's funny, do you? Acting as if you're going to cut yourself?"

"No, course not." Ste mumbles. "I didn't know what else to do." He looks at the ceiling, trying to avoid Brendan's penetrating gaze. "It's not like you've never done that before."

There's silence, and Ste wonders whether he's gone too far, if Brendan's regretting being with someone who won't let things lie. But a moment later his voice rings out above the music, sharp and clear.

"The mirror thing?"

"Yes. You think it was nice for me to see your hand all fucked up, and knowing that you had to go and see a nurse? That it was bad enough that you had to get help? Do you think that made me feel good, Brendan?"

"I told you, I had to cover my back after what I did to Warren. And I...I was angry."

It sounds like a rare admittance. Ste doesn't look at him, doesn't think that Brendan could be so honest if he wasn't facing away, giving him that freedom to acknowledge that he can't always control his own actions.

"Maybe I was angry too."

"At what?" Brendan asks, surprised. Ste chances a glance at him, seeing how the older man's face is creased with worry.

"At you, for thinking that this...thing between us isn't going to work out. That you're going to lose me."

"That's not what I meant."

"It sounded that way to me."

Brendan sighs, hand covering his face as though he's trying to shrink in on himself, to hide.

"I really fucked up back there with Warren, didn't I? Running away like that."

"There's nothing that we can't fix."

When Brendan speaks his voice is quiet, childlike in its uncertainty, looking at Ste for guidance. "You really think so?"

"Yes. You and me...whatever happens, he's not going to hurt us."

He doesn't know if his words carry weight, if they're enough. But when Brendan rises from the bed and begins to get dressed, there's a looseness in his bones, his fists no longer clenched like he's poised for a fight, an attack against himself.

Ste pull the cover further over himself, settling in to sleep, feeling the wave of tiredness that always washes over him after sex. He opens one eye when he feels a soft mound land on the bed, realising that Brendan's thrown him his socks.

"I'm going to the gym."

"Wasn't that enough for you?" Ste asks, incredulous. He's never liked going to the gym at the best of times, but someone would have to pay him to work out on an exercise machine now. His limbs are begging for rest.

"I've got to keep busy."

He understands it then, understands Brendan's need to be doing something, to keep his mind occupied in order for it not to stray to thoughts of Warren.

"Have fun," Ste mumbles, already beginning to lull into the hazy state between consciousness and sleep.

"Oi, Bambi. You're coming with me."

Ste immediately feels more alert at Brendan's words, the desire to argue sparking in him, making energy course through his body. He sits up in bed, throwing Brendan a disgruntled look.

"You what?"

"That was the deal, remember? Wherever I go, you follow."

"I didn't think you'd take it quite this literally."

"Steven." He can hear the frustration in Brendan's voice, the man staring upwards as though asking God to give him strength.

"It's not up for discussion. If Warren finds you alone in here then he'll see his chance and take it."

"Do you have no confidence at all in my ability to defend myself?"

Brendan's eyes travel across Ste's body, over his bare chest, the soft skin which is smooth in its lack of muscle definition, across to the peek of legs that's hanging out of the cover, their skinniness on display.

"I think you can answer that question yourself."

Ste scowls but does as he's told, leaving the warmth of the bed, the imprint of Brendan's body still visible, a dent in the mattress.

"As long as you don't expect me to do any exercise."

Brendan smirks as he pulls his vest over himself. "I'd never ask that of you, Steven."

* * *

The gym's almost empty when they arrive, only a few men running on the treadmill machines. Brendan spooks one of the prisoner's enough to hand over a set of weights, doing nothing more to intimidate than offering his best glare. Ste tuts but lets it slide; there's something undeniably amusing and attractive about seeing Brendan swagger about the place, the entire world at his feet.

Ste sits against the floor and watches as the muscles in Brendan's arms flex every time he lifts the weight. He handles it as though it's nothing, barely a strain. Ste wonders if Brendan became conditioned to accept pain early on in his life, and it no longer hurts him.

"You sure you don't want to try one? Get your first muscle?"

"Fuck off."

Brendan laughs, and Ste feels like he hasn't heard the sound in a thousand years, tries to capture it to memory. Brendan sees him smiling before he can disguise it.

"What?"

Ste shrugs, getting to his feet and standing close to the man, invading his personal space, heat seeming to radiate from him, his chest puffing out as he moves his arms faster around the weight.

"You just look good, that's all."

"Oh yeah?" Brendan asks, voice cocky, lips parted so that Ste can see his tongue. "You're not thinking about getting inappropriate in here, are you?"

Ste stares at him coyly then glances around the room, noticing how there's only one sole man whose managed to stay and brave Brendan, everyone else having made their escape.

"We're almost alone, aren't we?"

He reaches forward and gives Brendan arse a squeeze, half expecting him to panic and drop the weight on his foot, but he doesn't. His hand stills as he leans towards Ste and kisses him, the softness descending into tongues rubbing together and saliva making their mouths messy and obscene, glistening with spit.

"Jesus Steven, do you ever have enough?"

Ste's asked himself that same question, wondered if it's ever possible to grow tired of this. He's beginning to think that he could do it for the rest of his life, and it scares him that he may not get the chance.

He presses his lips against Brendan's exposed tattoo, the large cross that settles around his shoulder.

"I would say get a room, but you already have."

They spring apart at the sound of Warren's voice filling the room, seeming to echo around the walls. Brendan wipes his lips roughly, knowledge seeping through him of what Warren saw. Disgust rises to the surface, bile attacking his taste buds.

Ste steps closer to Brendan instinctively.

"It was a shame that you ran away earlier. I wanted to catch up."

Brendan's expression becomes as solid as marble, his arms crossed and eyes black.

"Not much to talk about, is there? I can't imagine you have much to tell me about when you've been in a coma for months."

Ste tenses, unsure if it's wise to be testing Warren's already thin patience. He sees the man who was exercising behind them walk from the room, eyes downcast as though he's afraid to look. Ste wishes he could join him, but he can't leave Brendan's side, is having to resist standing in front of him as an attempt to shield him from harm, despite the fact that Warren could easily toss him aside like a leaf blowing in the breeze.

"So, Brady's got himself a new boyfriend."

Warren looks Ste up and down, an action that forces Brendan to take a step further towards him, distancing Ste from the man.

"I can't say I'm surprised. Young, fair, skinny - dead ringer for Vinnie, isn't he?" Warren directs at Brendan. "Oops, did I say dead?"

Ste presses a hand against Brendan's chest when he makes a move forward, knuckles straining in their desire to attack. Warren smiles, and it doesn't matter that he's crouched over, bruises covering him and making him weak. Ste's never seen him look more terrifying.

"Don't worry Brendan, I'm sure they'll be another boy for you to fuck when Ste leaves."

It's a sore subject, and Ste's hold on Brendan lessens, hungry for a fight himself. He'd never considered Warren to have even an ounce of intelligence, never thought that he'd be able to recognise their weaknesses and the things that they fear. He looks intent on ripping them apart, piece by piece.

"This is a fascinating conversation, really it is Foxy. But does it have a point?" Brendan drawls, sounding far more collected than Ste knows he is.

Warren stares at the weight that's still in Brendan's hand. "Are you going to drop that thing, or continue to hold it like it's a weapon?"

Brendan stares at it as though that had been his exact plan, but he tentatively lowers it towards the floor, never taking his eyes off Warren.

"Good. Now, where were we?"

"The point of this little exchange," Brendan points out, voice as hard as ice.

"Ah yes. As you know, I've been in hospital after some bastard beat me up. Now that I'm back, I've had a meeting with Tony - he reckons that if we work together, we might be able to find out who did this to me."

Ste tries to remain as still as possible, feeling like any movement will reveal something that he desperately wants to stay hidden.

"We're trying to think about who could hate me enough to do that."

"How long have you got?"

Warren laughs hollowly. "There's really only a handful of people that it could be. It would have to be someone strong enough to be able to beat me into a coma, wouldn't it?"

Brendan shrugs. "Could have been anyone."

"It's not really someone like Silas's style though, is it? He likes killing women. He'd have no use for me."

"Murderers work in mysterious ways, Foxy. Can we move this along? I'm bored."

Warren walks around the room, tracing his hands over the machines. Ste's intensely relieved at the sudden distance.

"You're the eyes and ears of this place, Brendan. I was wondering if you could help to find out who did this to me."


	31. Chapter 31

"He's fucking with us."

Ste sighs, lying his head against Brendan's bare chest in defeat. It took him an unbearably long time just to get the buttons undone on Brendan's shirt, the Irishman fidgeting and huffing in protest, anger still rising in him like a flame even when they'd left the gym. Ste had tried some tactile methods of persuasion, his lips trailing along the hairs on Brendan's chest, his hands wandering downwards, but still Brendan wouldn't rest, wouldn't still for long enough for him to replace his churning mind with nothing but pleasure.

He tries to hide the scowl that's forming.

"Let me guess - Warren?"

Brendan seems to be unaware of the sarcasm lacing Ste's voice.

"Who else? Jesus Steven, are you not at all worried about what just happened back there?"

Truthfully he _is_ worried, but if he spends time trying to decipher Warren's words then he'll drive himself insane. Ste can't even begin to imagine the way the man's mind works, and he has no wish to. He's trying to concentrate on something solid and concrete and comforting; he's in Brendan's bed, and they're both safe.

"Maybe he meant what he said. Maybe he really doesn't know it's you, and wants you to help him," he mumbles, but he can tell that it's a weak argument, one that has Brendan releasing a disbelieving laugh.

"Foxy? You seriously thinks he wants me to play detective and solve the crime with him? This isn't fucking Scooby Doo, Steven."

Ste rolls away from Brendan's body, tiring of the attack when he's only trying to help, when he's trying to desperately cling onto anything that could mean that they're out of danger.

He's still in his boxers, had been hoping to coax Brendan into taking them off for him, but he feels like he's fighting a losing battle. He makes a grab for his t-shirt and covers himself up, noting with annoyance that Brendan barely looks in his direction, not even appearing to notice that he's getting dressed.

"Maybe he's changed. Maybe you killed his evil brain cells or something." He can hardly believe that he's joking about what Brendan did to Warren, but he realises with a start that _this_ is his life now. An eye for an eye has become normal. His priorities have shifted; Brendan being here, being untouched and unharmed - that's what's replaced his previous moral compass, however frayed it already was.

"Maybe pigs will fly over the fucking moon."

"Alright, don't get angry at me!"

Brendan's leaning against the pillow, arms crossed indignantly, brows furrowed together. Ste feels a swell of affection mixed with irritation, the two combined so often with Brendan that he doesn't always know which one's stronger.

"If you're going to continue to crack jokes -"

"What would you have me do, Brendan? Get scared, never leave my cell? Stay by your side shaking the entire time, letting Warren know that he's already won? I have to do this okay, I have to _crack jokes_. What else am I supposed to do?"

It's exactly what he didn't want to say, a truth he didn't want to reveal. He's aware of how Brendan's looking at him like he's seeing his fragility, as though he's wearing it openly now. He wanted to appear strong, not someone that Brendan would need to protect, forgetting about his own wellbeing in the process.

When Brendan reaches out a hand Ste knows he should refuse it, shouldn't give into the comfort of it and reaffirm the message that he needs looking after. But it's impossible to refuse. It's warm in the bed, and Brendan's body is warmer. Ste holds onto the last remains of his self righteousness by not so accidentally elbowing Brendan in the ribs, climbing back in beside him and feeling the soft hairs that line Brendan's legs brush against his own.

They're silent for a moment, facing the wall with its cracks and peeled wallpaper and the locked door, a constant reminder that neither one of them are home. Ste shuffles closer, because Brendan's the only thing he's got in here that means anything, means peace and familiarity and the sense that if he did this the rest of his life, him and Brendan, then he'd experience something like happiness, the closest thing he's ever had to it.

"I don't want to argue," he says finally, voice cracking around the edges, giving away how much this is true; if he loses Brendan, then he has nothing to hold onto.

"Me neither." The sincerity of it surprises Ste, had expected that Brendan would reply with more words designed to hurt, accusing him of being the one to start it like they're two boys in a playground. It's not an apology, but he didn't expect that. He's learnt to live with the fact that it's rare for Brendan, that "sorry" comes once in a lifetime, and when it's spoken it should be cherished, that it's admitting a weakness where Brendan only wants to have strengths, a need to be the one who's right and holds that last precious word in a disagreement.

"Don't get mad, right..."

"What?" Brendan says warily, looking torn between fear and suspicion, as though Ste's hatched a master plan behind his back that's royally fucked up.

"I was just thinking..." He's relieved when Brendan allows him to voice his thoughts out loud, no retorts, no: "Thinking? Always a dangerous thing for you." "Maybe we should ask Walker for help."

Brendan tries to look surprised, tries to look disgusted and like the thought has never even crossed his mind, but Ste knows it has, it_ must of_, he's seen Walker and Brendan talking, looking thick as thieves to people who have no idea about their history, the wall that's formed solidly between them ever since Ste walked into their lives.

He waits for the jealousy to form, can see it rearing its ugly head, making Brendan's mouth twitch and suck in a breath. He can already guess the words that'll spill from his lips, something heated and furious, directed at him as though he honestly wants any of this, wants to have to be looked after by two grown men like he needs babysitting, unable to defend himself.

"I'm asking because I think we need it, not because I want to." He fills in the gaps so Brendan doesn't have to, but it's still there on the older man's lips, the desire to question him, to work out his intentions.

Ste lets him voice it, can tell that Brendan needs a release, and right now anger and accusations are his method of choice.

"Missed him, have you?"

Ste struggles not to roll his eyes. He can deal with the possessiveness, a twisted part of him even _likes_ it, likes how it feels as though he's the centre of Brendan's entire universe. But now isn't the time; this isn't about who belongs to who or who wants who.

"I haven't _missed_ him, alright? But you can't be around me all the time. You need to sleep."

"Says who?" Brendan sparks back, but Ste can already see the effects of sleep deprivation, the shadows that have formed under his eyes, countless nights spent imagining Warren's return taking its toll.

"What Walker did was awful." He's not going to deny that for a second, not going to brush aside the past like it's nothing, as though Walker didn't try to come between them by using Seamus to twist the knife in, separating them in the most brutal of ways. "But he's never tried to hurt me, has he? Even when I was alone with him, he never tried..." He stops, sees how this is affecting Brendan, making him ball his fists up tightly and grit his teeth, the composure leeching from him.

"He's the only one who can help." They both know it, both realise that it's not going to be the officers or Ethan or Doug who are going to solve this. It's going to take something more than that, someone who can protect him and who knows how prison works, can get into the mind of a murderer and read their next move like it's their own.

"I'd rather die than ask for his help."

"Bit dramatic, don't you think?"

"I'm just being honest."

Brendan jolts when Ste lays a hand against his thigh, before settling into it, allowing the boy to keep it there. Ste takes it as a good sign, however small it is, that he's not being pushed away.

"What do we do tomorrow, Bren?"

Brendan looks at him in confusion. "What do you mean? Want to go to the cinema, do you?"

Ste takes the bed cover in his hands, twisting it around his fingers. "Don't be daft. Do we just go back to normal, or...I mean, how are we meant to just..." He grapples for the right words to say, needs something like reassurance from the man beside him. "Do we just continue?"

Brendan's quiet when he speaks, but his voice possesses the authority that Ste urgently needs, that makes him feel like he's being anchored to the ground, no longer in danger of his thoughts spiralling, imagining the possible scenarios which are all black and poisonous.

"We go to cooking class, we go to the gym -"

"Er, as nice as it is to watch you all sweaty, I can see you like that in far more entertaining ways. Do I have to go again?"

"Fine," Brendan says, a smirk playing on his lips. "No gym. But we've got to show Warren that we're not going to put our lives on hold just for him."

Ste can't help but think that that's exactly what they're doing, running scared. Even in the privacy of the cell he feels aware of Brendan keeping him close, has to have at least a part of his body touching him, his eyes following every movement. Brendan doesn't believe that they're safe in here, not entirely, and the fear's transferring.

Ste remembers his earlier promise to himself, rising from the bed.

"I need to call Amy."

He's unsurprised when Brendan follows him, looking down at his shirt and suddenly seeming to notice that his buttons are undone.

"When did that happen?" He says, gesturing between his clothing and Ste.

The frustration from earlier rises in him again, and he feels heat flood through him.

"Finally noticed, did you? I was doing some of my best work there."

Brendan scoffs, leaving Ste affronted. "What?" He barks out, watching in disappointment as Brendan's chest disappears under the material, the Irishman concealing far more than Ste would like.

"Your best work?" Brendan asks with a smile, clearly enjoying the boy's suffering.

"Yeah," Ste insists. "I tried to create a mood, and all you could talk about was bloody Warren Fox."

Brendan strides towards him, eyes low and voice even lower, rough and full of intent. "I'll make it up to you later."

Ste swallows, Adam's apple jutting out, inches away from the older man's lips, and he can't _not_ look. But that's not enough today, not nearly enough, and he needs a taste too, pressing his lips against Brendan's and waiting for him to part his mouth, allow his tongue to rub against his, for hot breath to transfer, lighting up his insides.

Ste feels lightheaded, ridiculously so. That could have been his first kiss with the way his heart's hammering, standing up on tip toes to have the best available access. Brendan rests his forehead against his, and Ste can feel the pulse in his neck under his fingertips, stuttering under his touch. Brendan looks like he's regretting his previous actions, hand moving to the front of Ste's trousers, cupping a palm around his groin and making him hard.

"Are you sure you want to go?" Brendan breathes against him, and for one second Ste misunderstands his meaning, imagines for one agonising moment that he's asking him about the bigger picture, about leaving _this_ place, the prison and him, and this is an attempt to ask him to stay. He's about to open his mouth, about to say _No, I don't want to go, and I don't have to either_, fucking stupid and it doesn't make any sense; he has to go, has to leave this place and live the rest of his life, but the rest of his life means very little without Brendan.

"I need to talk to the kids." Even as he says it he's got his hands on the front of Brendan's shirt, pulling at the material and creasing it, imagining how much better it would look on the floor, allowing him access to the older man's skin. He shakes his head, feels like he's in a dream like state, and Brendan _does_ this to him, makes him want to never leave the room, never reject anything that he can give him.

"Come on," he tuts. "Get your mind out of the gutter."

Brendan follows him out of the door, eyes on Ste's arse when the boy turns to look at him, grinning sheepishly when he catches where his gaze has settled. He raises his eyebrows, a wordless gesture that explains his actions away, _did you expect anything else?_ and fuck he's beautiful, and Ste wants him more than he ever has.

When they reach the phone, Ste begins to dial the numbers and has a moment of panic. He gets it wrong, mixes the numbers up and has to start again. He's worried that he's forgetting, blood rushing to the surface of his skin as his hands begin to grow clammy. He _can't_ forget, can't allow everything that's happening to push out Amy and the kids in his life, the space that they have there.

"You alright?" Brendan asks, a concerned frown on his face as he watches Ste's hesitation.

He remembers it then, feels relief wash through him as he dials the correct number and hears the sound of Amy picking up, the kids playing around her in the background, their voices filtering through. Ste gives Brendan a reassuring smile from beside him, registering the way that the Irishman tries to hover around the phone awkwardly, not wanting to appear to be listening in, but Ste can see that he's never not aware of Warren, thinks that a fifteen minute phone call could give the man a chance to steal him away.

It calms him, hearing Amy's voice at the other end of the line. It's becoming a distant memory, her fury at him for shoplifting, her acidic words in the courtroom, the coldness that had been present during her initial visits.

"How are you?"

"Good." He's surprised when he doesn't have to force it, the realisation hitting him that he _is_ good. He glances at Brendan, isn't under any allusion as to what's causing his happiness in a place where he should feel the opposite.

"Have you gained any weight?"

He rolls his eyes, glad that she can't see. "Since I last saw you? How am I supposed to know?"

"Don't they weigh you in that place? Make sure that you're not about to disappear?"

"It's not really high on their list of priorities, Ames." He thinks of Warren being let out of hospital less than a week after he'd woken from a coma, several of the officers barely trying to conceal their sniggers when the man limps past them, a patchwork of bruises distorting his face.

He doesn't tell Amy about Warren, doesn't think that she'd be able to rest easily that night knowing the most graphic details of what the men do to each other in here. That the man he's sleeping with is the one responsible for his injuries.

"How are you doing?" He needs her reassurance, needs to hear that she's surviving without him. That he hasn't brought shame on her, her life open to ridicule now that the father of her kids has been locked up.

"Fine. Dad came down to visit the other day."

Ste's hands tense around the phone, an involuntarily reaction to whenever Mike's mentioned. He had dreaded Amy's father turning up at his trial, had imagined the smugness of his expression when he'd been sent down, the man being proven correct about him being a failure who would amount to nothing. It isn't that Mike's vindictive, isn't even in the same league as someone like Terry. Ste even thinks that a part of him's right, that he's never been good enough for Amy. But he likes to keep those insecurities hidden as much as possible, likes to believe that one day he can prove to the world that he is.

"Don't get like that."

He wonders if he's just spoken all of that out loud.

"What?"

"I know what you're thinking."

"No, your dad's...decent."

Amy laughs at his lack of sincerity. "You don't have to pretend. At least he's never thrown a brick at your head."

Ste smirks, can't help but still be gratified at the fate that had befallen Josh, one of Amy's ex boyfriends who he could never stand the sight of.

"I'm glad that he was with you." He means it, hates the thought of Amy being alone in the house. There's always something to do with Leah and Lucas: playing with them, bath time, cooking, cleaning, but it doesn't stop the loneliness from seeping through, the emptiness that comes from not having another adult to communicate with.

"I'll have to get used to having another man around the house anyway, won't I?" He can hear the amusement in her voice, making him feel like he's missed a step, that he's on the outside of a private joke that he ought to understand.

"What?"

"You know. After your big announcement," she says coyly.

"Oh." He blushes, eyes travelling to Brendan and seeing whether he's watching. He's staring at him curiously, sharply looking away and pretending to find a spot on the wall fascinating when their eyes lock. "It wasn't exactly an announcement."

"Ste, you told me you're gay."

"Keep your voice down! The kids could hear you."

"So?" She says, laughing. "They're not going to understand. And even if they do, there's nothing wrong with it, is there? By the time they're teenagers they'll be used to seeing men coming in and out of your room."

"Amy!" He scolds her, not knowing what's bothering him more - the fact that Brendan's standing inches away from him, or the fact that it's a plural. _Men_.

"What are you going to do, take a chastity vow?"

"No, but..." He presses the phone closer to his ear, praying that Amy's voice isn't carrying so that Brendan's catching snippets of their conversation. "Maybe that's not me. You know, being with...more than one." He's trying to make it as ambiguous as possible, but he's aware of Brendan listening in, could put money on the Irishman frantically trying to work out his meaning.

"I'm only kidding! I think it's sweet, you wanting a boyfriend. Wanting to be exclusive."

He could tell her now, tell her how he's already found that person. That he's seeing someone, and they may not be using the term boyfriends, but they're not far behind.

But he's sure that her excitement would turn to horrified indignation the minute that he tells her the details, that it's someone who he met inside, and they're not about to be released within the next decade.

"Aw, are you embarrassed?" She continues, picking up on his silence.

"Shut up." He can feel his cheeks burning up, and he turns to the side, blocking out Brendan. "Can I speak to the kids for a minute?"

"Sure. I'll put you on speakerphone so they can talk to you together."

He waits to hear their voices, nearly letting out a strangled sob when he does. It doesn't matter that he speaks to them almost every day, doesn't matter that Amy brings in new photographs when she visits. He _misses_ them, aches to see them and watch them grow into the adults that they'll one day be. He can envision them jumping up and down in the flat in delight, can hear the movement and the chorus of "daddy" that echos down the line.

"How are you?" He asks, trying to conceal the emotion that's gripping him.

They interrupt each other, and all he can hear is a combination of both their voices, shouting and giggling until Amy restores order.

"You go first, Leah. Tell daddy about school."

Ste listens as his daughter tells him about the praise she's received from her teachers, the gold stars in her workbooks that she looks at at every opportunity. He can feel his smile stretching his face and almost hurting his jaw, but he doesn't care. He'd feared that his absence in their lives would result in problems at school, problems at home, but he should have had more faith in Amy. She's built a solid foundation for them, sheltered them and provided them with the kind of environment that he never grew up in.

Lucas comes on the line next, talking animatedly about judo, about how he goes every week, and Ste's mind wanders to Walker and his assortment of black belts and marital arts moves, and he tries to contain the laughter that threatens to be released. He wants the kids to talk forever, dreads the question that he knows is to come, and it's spoken before he can distract them.

"How's Benidorm daddy?"

He's used to lying, has made it into something of a fine art, but he still feels a pang of guilt as he tells them about taking dips in the pool, stretching out on a sun lounger and eating fry ups for breakfast. Leah and Lucas don't probe further, haven't truly learnt to be suspicious or distrustful yet, and he's able to appease them by promising to come home soon, to never leave them again.

Amy interrupts. "Daddy's very busy, lets get off the phone now -"

'No," he cuts in, trying to make his voice neutral again, to not alert her to the fact that something's amiss. "Let me just speak to them for a little bit longer."

He's not going to let his last words to the kids be about bloody Benidorm, isn't going to end things on a lie. Brendan's presence by his side is a constant reminder to be on his guard, that he needs protection in this place. If something happens during the remainder of his time here, then he needs the kids to remember his parting words as being something important. Something that they can be proud of when he's gone.

"Amy, can you take them off speakerphone for me? I want to talk to Leah." He knows that as the oldest, his message has more of a chance of sinking in. She could remember it in years to come. "Can you hear me darling?"

"Yes." He hears the soft voice of his daughter, imagining her blonde hair and large round eyes, the picture of innocence. He's been thinking about it a lot lately, her youth and her complete trust in those around her. It won't be long before Leah's eight years old. The same age as Brendan was when his life was taken away by his father.

Ste swallows around a lump wedged in his throat.

"You know that I love you a lot, don't you?"

"Yes daddy." She sounds distracted, possibly playing with a toy by her side.

"Have you got Britney there?" It's the name of Leah's favourite doll, the one that she sleeps with, the one that she won't leave the house without.

"Yes."

"I want you to do something for me. Whenever you miss daddy, I want you to give Britney a big hug and a kiss for me, yeah?" He can hear the shake in his voice, despises it because he needs to be strong now. He can't let Leah think of him as crumbling at the seams. "Can you do that for me?"

"Yeah."

"And you know that mummy and Lucas will always be there, don't you? They'll be there for you forever, and they'll love you forever."

He knows his words don't make complete sense to her, don't carry the weight that they should. He's grateful for it, doesn't want Leah to be scared by the intensity, by how it sounds like he's saying goodbye.

"I love you, Leah." He doesn't care how many times he repeats it, could speak it for eternity and it still wouldn't be enough.

"I love you too."

* * *

"It's Kevin's choice today."

Ste scowls. Fucking Kevin. He's lucky that he's still in this class, shouldn't even still be standing after everything he's done.

The boy looks smug as hell, standing next to Tony, donned in a flowery apron and wearing his newly fucked hair like a prize. He's adjusted to being Walker's whipping boy, shows the signs openly now. Ste had passed them in the hallway, Walker's hands down Kevin's jogging bottoms as his tongue had delved in his mouth. Ste's face had twisted, and he'd shoved them out of the way of the door to get past.

He's expecting Walker to join them in cookery class next, feeding Kevin cake mix and fucking him on the nearest available surface. He shivers.

"You cold?" Brendan asks, whispering into his ear as Kevin acts like selecting what recipe to use is the hardest choice he's ever had to make. The Irishman starts lifting off his jacket, preparing to offer it to Ste.

"No, don't worry. I just...I mean, look at him." He grimaces over at Kevin, doesn't like the way that Tony's looking at him like he's just found his next gifted pupil.

"He's just a sewer rat, Steven. Ignore him."

"I can't, he's always here. This was meant to be _our_ place." He's being possessive, but he thinks he's earned the right after finding out about what Brendan was planning to do to Kevin all those weeks ago. The memory of it hasn't left his mind, and Brendan knows it. He becomes more openly affectionate when Kevin's around, overcompensating as though trying to prove to Ste that there's only room for one person in his life.

"This was where we properly started talking, wasn't it?" Ste continues, feeling Brendan sigh in defeat beside him, knowing that he's not going to be able to distract him. "Does Kevin even like cooking? He's fucking scrawny, isn't he?"

He pointedly ignores the glance that he sees Brendan give him, a full up and down assessment of his own less than robust body.

"Can't we just get rid of him?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know, just...dispose of him somehow." He barely knows what he's saying, is too consumed by envy. Kevin got to be close to Brendan when he was shut out, when he was alone and in the dark and barely got a glimpse of the Irishman. He'll never forget those weeks, never forget the torment of lying awake at night and replaying Brendan shoving him against the bed, his spine burning, the man's revelation that he'd cheated on him ringing in his ears, however untrue it proved to be.

"Steven, are you asking me to kill him?" Brendan hisses, sounding more outraged than he should for a man whose considered killing for less, who _has_ killed.

"No, of course not," Ste says, although moments ago he was seriously contemplating it. "I just can't stand him."

Brendan faces the front, his eyes burning into Kevin. "You're not the only one."

Ste's surprised, hadn't expected that. "Since when?"

"Since he told me that I could do better than you." His voice sounds thick, heavy with darkness and an edge of warning that sends a chill through Ste's body. Brendan _would_ kill for him, he has no doubt about that. He's never had someone who loves him that much, whose entire life depends on his own safety.

They're interrupted by Tony's announcement of today's dish. Kevin's chosen something predictably boring, something without flavour or spice, and Ste grabs a mixing bowl and imagines that the contents are the boy's head, stirring aggressively. Brendan handles the fish. Tony's gone to the effort of securing some from a market, and the eyes and mouth are still intact. Brendan holds them up to Ste, putting on voices and making the fish's mouth go up and down with his fingers.

"You're disgusting," Ste says, laughing and ducking away when Brendan tries to come closer. If Brendan's aim was to put him in a better mood than it's worked; he feels his earlier grumpiness ease, and he allows himself to feel the way he usually does when he's cooking, concentrating on the task and enjoying the methodical nature of it.

"Have you thought any more about starting your own business?"

Ste hasn't spent much time considering it since their last discussion. It's hard to imagine being hired at his local pizza deliverer with his criminal record, let alone having the money, drive and backing to start something of his own from scratch.

"Not really. It's a bit silly, isn't it?"

"What's silly about it?"

It's difficult to explain without revealing his lack of self belief. He knows that it's not an attractive trait - how is he meant to expect Brendan to want him if he realises how incompetent he feels?

"Steven."

He looks up, meeting Brendan's eyes. There's understanding there. Comprehension.

"One of these days, you have to start believing in yourself."

It takes his breath away. He's only ever heard the opposite, that he's not intelligent enough for school, is too lazy to get a job, is too reckless to be a father. It's like looking into a bright light, blinding to hear someone think that there's something in him worth seeing.

"You ran a club once, didn't you?" Ste asks, vaguely remembering Brendan telling him about his life in Ireland, one of the few things that he's revealed about when he used to be with Eileen and the kids.

"A couple of them, yeah."

"I'd like that," Ste says, only realising just how much truth is in it when the words form. He can picture himself in a club, bathed in the dark lighting and listening as music fills the place, dancing to the beat of it. He didn't used to just go to them to find someone to fuck; he liked the atmosphere, the steady stream of booze and the way you could get lost in the crowd, but still feel like you were part of something.

Brendan smiles, and Ste imagines him remembering the days of his youth, back when he used to stay up till the early hours, running the establishment. It suits him.

"Imagine if I had been your employee." He grins at the thought, picturing the hours spent in Brendan's office, the Irishman watching as he sucked him off under the table. Or trapped in a toilet cubicle, Ste's chest molded against the door, the press of Brendan's cock into his hole making his insides spark and light up.

"I don't think we'd get much work done," Brendan says wryly. "In the next life, maybe."

"It would be good though, wouldn't it? You being my boss."

Brendan looks at him, knowing exactly what he's getting out. The pink and fleshy edge of his tongue is peeking out, barely contained lust in his eyes.

"I thought I already was your boss, Steven."

His cheek earns him a playful shove, but Ste doesn't deny it. Doesn't want to.

"You could help me though, couldn't you? I mean, maybe not straight away obviously, not for a few years, but..." He stutters, becoming entangled in his own words. "But once you get out."

Brendan goes towards the sink, wiping the trace of the fish off his hands, his head bowed. Ste watches his back nervously.

"Out?" It's quiet, questioning.

"Yeah. Maybe one of these appeals...they could work."

Brendan huffs a laugh. "You sound like Cheryl."

"Well maybe she's right." He's grasping at straws here, forgetting - or ignoring - everything that Brendan's previously told him.

When Brendan faces him again his eyes are downcast. Ste's unaware of anyone else in the room.

"They found my DNA all over Seamus. All over the hammer."

"You could say that someone framed you, stitched you up."

It only makes Brendan laugh louder, sounding humourless. "You've been watching too many episodes of CSI."

"I just don't think you should give up. Loads of people must be wrongfully convicted. And maybe if the judge knows what your dad did to you -"

"No." It's unequivocal, no room for argument. "I'm not using what happened to get me off the hook. That would make me as bad as him."

Ste shakes his head disbelievingly, moving closer to Brendan so that no one can hear. Silas is usually only tables down from them, and his nosiness knows no bounds.

"You could never be as bad as him. _Never_. It's not even a possibility, okay?" He needs any comparisons to stop. It's a dangerous game, when Brendan starts talking about his own actions and Seamus's in the same sentence. He knows how Brendan's mind works, how self punishing it can be.

"Maybe because I have you. Maybe that's all that's stopping me."

"There's too many maybes in that sentence. You could lose me, lose your kids, lose your sister - you still wouldn't be anything like him."

Brendan leans against the table, hand clenched around the side of it. There's no pretense there; he's not even trying to be put on an act. He wears his emotions for Ste to see.

"Don't talk about...about me losing you."

"I was just saying -"

"Don't. Please." His voice is strained, needing Ste to realise how much it hurts. "Before, with Amy..."

Ste puts the spoon he'd been holding down, doesn't think that mixing something to death out of anxiety is going to help him here.

"What were you talking about?"

He considers telling Brendan that it's private, but he doesn't want there to be lies in their relationship. That's why they were parted for all those weeks in the first place - a lack of communication which led to Brendan believing Walker's word over his. He can't let that happen again.

"With Leah, it sounded like...sounded like you were saying goodbye." When Ste doesn't say anything Brendan continues, tentative and unsure. "Were you?"

"Maybe."

"There's too many maybes in that sentence."

"Brendan -"

"There shouldn't be any," Brendan says, cutting in, his tone firm. "Nothing bad's going to happen to you, Steven."

"You thought it too. Earlier, back in your cell. You were crying with it, Bren." He hates to draw attention to Brendan's vulnerability, but he's not the only one whose had to think about loss.

"I was off my head. I wasn't thinking properly."

"Maybe you were. We both know what Warren's capable of."

"Yeah, to his fiancée. To Ethan. Because I...I didn't protect him. I didn't think it concerned me, when of course it did. Of course it did, because it..."

"It happened to you," Ste finishes for him, voice tinged with sadness. Brendan gives a slight nod of his head, more sorrow experienced in a lifetime than Ste can contemplate, doesn't know what to do in the face of so much suffering.

"I'm not going to let him do that to you."

Ste doesn't voice his real fear. They've been over this ground, and every time Brendan brushes his worries away, assures him that it's not going to happen, that what he fears above all else - Brendan being hurt - is an impossibility. Ste had wanted to talk to his kids, to tell them that he loves them, because if things escalate, and Warren hurts Brendan... Ste won't need to be killed himself. The pain of surviving will be that much worse.

"Listen to me." Brendan cradles Ste's face in his hands before he can pull away, the boy struggling because he doesn't want the Irishman to see the doubt in his eyes. "You're going to live a long life, okay? You're going to get out of this place, and you're going to be with those kids of yours, and that girl of yours, and you're going to get your own club, Steven."

Ste's disbelieving, turning his face away to reject Brendan's words. The older man won't let him, forces Ste to look into his eyes, his finger gently tracing his jaw.

"You're going to make the best fucking food that the world's ever tasted. And you're going to be with someone. Whether that's me, or some other guy..."

"There won't be another guy." It's his turn to speak with conviction, won't let Brendan entertain these thoughts. "There never will be."

Ste doesn't like the smile that appears on Brendan's face, doesn't like how it has a mocking edge to it, like he's laughing at his naivety.

"I just want you to be happy."

Ste removes Brendan's hands from him, placing his own around the man's face. It's a face he's come to know better than his own. He knows how the hair of his moustache feels against Ste's finger and upper lip. He knows how Brendan's morning stubble feels against his cheek, around his groin. He knows those eyes, pools of blue which have seen too much, more than they ever should have.

He loves him. He can't remember a time when he didn't.

"How can I be with happy without you?"

Again, that smile which is quick to wipe away his words, as though Brendan thinks that he's a boy who doesn't know his own mind, hasn't lived long enough to know what he wants. But _fuck_, Ste knows. He knows that he could be with a better man, but they'd never make him feel this alive. He's not blind to Brendan's imperfections, but it's too late; he's in this till the day he dies now.

"You alright gentleman?" Tony's voice reaches them as though from a distance.

Ste had blocked out the other men in the room, hadn't listened to the sound of cutlery scraping and ingredients being chopped, arguments forming over whether to use cheddar or parmesan. He suddenly realises how this most look, how he's stood in the classroom cupping Brendan's face, so close to him that their lips are nearly pressed together. Tony looks uncomfortable, Kevin standing beside him with his arms crossed, not even trying to avert his gaze.

They've attracted something of an audience, Silas's eyes darting their way from where he's standing by the hob. His gaze is judgmental, peppered with disgust. Ste's fingers reach for his flies, because he feels exposed right now, as though Silas's caught him in a state of undress, even though he knows that not a single item of clothing has been removed.

"Sorry. I'll get back to it," Ste mumbles, attention turning back once more to the bowl he was mixing. He has this unwavering need to impress Tony, to make him view him as capable. He feels a sense of satisfaction coursing through him when he leans against the counter, telling Ste about a cooking show he saw the other day, one that he thinks he might enjoy. Kevin's standing behind him, playing with his hands and looking decidedly out of place. It makes Ste feel giddy.

"How's your chopping going, Brendan?"

"You know me, Anthony. I always rise to the challenge."

Brendan moves aside and lets the governor admire his handiwork. Ste can hardly believe that this is the same man who'd been threatening Tony in the not so distant past, eager to see him come to harm in order to get what he wanted. Ste knows this is because of _him_, knows that Brendan's making an effort because _he_ likes Tony. It makes him believe in this life that they could have together. If Brendan's treating Tony with respect, then he could do the same with Amy, with the kids now that he knows how important they are to him.

The fantasy that Brendan's presented to him doesn't seem so difficult to reach.

Even the sight of Kevin staying behind when Tony's gone to another table doesn't make his temper rise. He concentrates on the warmth of Brendan beside him, eating the food when he doesn't think anyone's looking.

"Can I help you?" Ste asks, aims for politeness but it still comes out sounding like an accusation.

"Just admiring the view." There's the prison gardens behind them, visible out of the window. But Ste can see where Kevin's gaze has settled, directly on Brendan, eyes trailing up and down the Irishman's body. It's the same way that Ste's looked at him in the past, the same way that he continues to look at him, unable to believe that he's able to do whatever he wants to him. He's touched every part of Brendan, fucking _gorgeous_ is what he is, and Kevin doesn't get to have access, doesn't even get to look.

Ste grabs Brendan by the scruff of his shirt collar, the older man letting out a surprised yelp that's soon transferred to the inside of Ste's mouth as he sucks on his bottom lip. He keeps his eyes open at first, wanting to watch Kevin's reaction as the boy's face falls, his previous confidence evaporating. Ste no longer cares that they're surrounded by a dozen men, most of who are homophobes behind closed doors and polite out of obligation to Brendan's face.

He doesn't care that Silas looks positively murderous when Ste deepens the kiss, closing his eyes as Brendan's tongue meets his, his hips colliding with Brendan's, their bodies so close and hot and connected that he could fuck him right here, right now. Ste's growing hard, the frustration from not having Brendan's cock inside him earlier making him _so easy,_ gasping to come, and _fuck_ he'd climb onto the table right now if he could, would lose his clothes and work himself with his own fingers to get loose and ready, his come stretching him open.

Brendan lets him do what he wants with him, lets him kiss him until their dicks are mounds in their trousers, gasping into each others mouths. Ste thinks he knows that he's got a point to prove here, and it may be a childish one but Brendan's _his_, not anyone else's to take away and claim ownership over. Kevin Foster won't be admiring this particular view ever again, unless he wants Ste's hands around his throat.

When the two men draw apart they fight to get their breaths back, Kevin staring at them with wide eyes, not any fucking different to his normal expression. _Anything_ has the capacity to scare Kevin, but Ste knows he's won this. It feels like a triumph, feels like he wants to get fucked and he lets Brendan know it, lets the Irishman see the outline of his erection straining in his pants.

Silas's gaze is unmoving, and Ste can't not say something.

"Oi, Blissett. You like chess, don't you?" He's seen the older man play it alone in his cell, although Ste doesn't have the first clue how a solitary board game even begins to work.

"Yes." Silas's voice is clipped, cold.

"I think that's what they call checkmate, isn't it?"


	32. Chapter 32

"Do you think we should stop using condoms?"

Brendan turns to Steven, taking in the sight of the boy's sweat slicked hair, his golden form propped on top of the covers, cooling himself off.

"Where did that come from?"

"I don't know. I was just thinking. It would be nice, wouldn't it? To have nothing between us."

It's not that Brendan hasn't thought about it. Jesus, every time he puts on a condom he has to swallow down his frustration that he's not going bareback, not pushing into Steven's hole without a barrier. But he hasn't been tested for more than a year, and has no idea what Steven's own views on protection are. From what he's told Brendan about his past, his sexual encounters were of the rushed variety; quick fucks in the bathrooms of clubs, combined with months when he'd go back to that girlfriend of his, trying to leave it all behind.

He should have expected this. When they left Tony's class Steven had dragged him back to the cell, Douglas immediately vacating the room like he'd been electrocuted. They'd barely waited for the door to close before they'd been pulling each others clothes off, the memory of the kiss in the classroom still vivid on Brendan's tongue. He'd never done something like that in his life, kissed a man that openly, tongues and teeth and hands in hair like he _wanted_ people to look.

Determination had taken over, determination to make Kevin realise that he can't win this, can't act superior and make Steven think he's a threat. Brendan won't play that game, would have given anything to make Steven jealous when they'd been apart, when he'd flirted with Kevin for the exact purpose of wounding the boy. Now it hurts him, the fact that Steven could think he'd want anyone else. He doesn't want a poor imitation when he has Steven in his bed, the boy a constant thought in his mind; how to make him happy, how to give him the future he deserves, even if Brendan's own is wrecked to hell.

He'd been able to still the panic in him, Steven's hands and mouth providing the distraction that he needed to stop him from reacting to the fact that he was _out_, had been out for years but it felt more permanent now, something unavoidable, something that everyone knew, that they'd seen with their own eyes instead of being part of playground gossip, spoken in hushed whispers between prisoners.

The boy didn't allow him time to dwell on it, had sunk down onto his knees on the floor of the cell, fisting Brendan's cock while his lips had worked on Brendan's thighs. Steven had bitten down on his skin every time that Brendan's legs buckled from the feel of the damp heat and suction, and the warm hand gripping his dick. His senses were overwrought with pleasure, and Brendan found he didn't _want_ to punish Steven for what he'd done in the classroom.

He leaned back against the door, closing his eyes to calm himself, letting Steven set the pace. It was only when he heard the sound of groans escaping from the boy's mouth that his eyes drifted lazily open; Steven had started jerking himself off, looking close to coming. It didn't take much at his age, least of all when he had Brendan's cock in front of him, thick and erect.

Brendan was about to watch while Steven came in his hand, but his impatience overrode the boy's need for release. He wanted them to come together, and he shrugged Steven's hand off him and carried the boy in his arms until they reached the bed. Steven was feather-light, hands circled around Brendan's neck as though he was hanging on for dear life, would trust him with anything, would let him take him into a burning building and believe that they'd come out the other side still intact.

Brendan laid the boy down gently, all gangly limbs and concave stomach. He didn't wait to sit down beside him before already sucking on two fingers, easing them into Steven and making him gasp, adjusting to the sensation, eyes locking with Brendan's to allow the older man to read every flicker of emotion, of the change in him when Brendan began to rub against his prostrate. Steven had angled Brendan's cock towards him before he'd worked up to another finger, trying to maneuver his own body to be fully seated in Brendan's lap.

The Irishman pushed Steven away, trying to be as gentle as possible but still prevent himself from going into the boy unprotected; he wasn't going to risk hurting Steven. He'd attributed it to the boy being caught in the moment, of allowing his need to connect to overpower his sense of safety.

Now he wonders if it was the making of a plan. If Steven has wanted to have nothing between them for weeks. No clothes, no material, no latex.

"We'd have to get ourselves checked."

Steven frowns. "What do you mean?"

Fuck. Has this boy never heard of an STI before? Brendan nearly snorts at his naivety, but then remembers that Steven's new to all this, was telling people he was straight until a few months ago. He had a girlfriend, was playing the family man. He probably thought rimming was a cooking technique.

"You and these...guys you've been with." Brendan hates the direction of this conversation, feels his stomach coiling with the mention of these other men. "Did you always use a condom?"

Steven looks into the distance, looks like he's trying to remember, and it fucking _hurts_, hurts how there have been so many others that he can't easily recall them individually. Brendan knows he's being irrational; _he_ has a past. Time was when he'd go out every night, visiting bars and picking up a new boy, not even going to the effort of learning their name. But he privately hopes that every one of these former conquests of Steven's turns up here soon; he'd like to meet them, and then kill them.

"I think so. I never would have put Rae at risk."

Brendan isn't so sure; Steven already went unprotected with Amy, didn't care about being safe back then. He'd been the same with Eileen, until his fear about making her catch something had made him paranoid, overly cautious at times. He couldn't risk the chance of her questioning him, and discovering his secret.

Now there's no one to hide it from, but he's not going to let his own greediness about being inside Steven without a barrier make him become lazy and careless. He's going to get this right, wants to start doing things properly. Steven's his incentive to try.

"Have you spoken to her?"

"Rae?"

Brendan nods, internally wondering what kind of name _Rae_ is. He can't think of anything that it could be lengthened to. It frustrates him.

"Not really. We broke up before I came here, didn't we?"

"So she hasn't been sniffing around?"

"She's not a dog, Brendan."

He rolls his eyes. "Figure of speech, Steven."

The boy doesn't look as though he believes him.

"Amy mentioned her a couple of times. I asked how she was doing."

Brendan hears manic laughter filling the room, takes a moment for him to realise that it's his own. Steven knows how he gets when he's like this, looks less alarmed than he would have been months ago, but there's still wariness there. He's keeping his distance, removing his hand from Brendan's chest.

"Why?" He knows why, knows that Steven's not the type to mercilessly cut someone out of his life, but his rational thinking isn't playing a large role here, jealousy making his understanding lessen. His mind's churning, forming ways of ensuring that Rae remains out of the picture.

"She was my girlfriend," Steven says, slowly and calmly like he's aware that Brendan's not far from erupting. "It can't have been easy on her, me going to prison. Leaving her like that."

Brendan turns to the side, facing the wall opposite and away from Steven, their arms no longer touching.

"Are you just going to go back to her then?"

He can almost visualise Steven's mouth gawping like a fish, silence stretching before them. When the boy speaks his voice is incredulous, and Brendan dares to hope that he's truly never considered it.

"No, why would I?"

"You did that a lot, didn't you? Break up, get back together. That's what you told me."

"Yeah, except back then I hadn't just announced to the mother of my kids that I'm gay. What do you think Amy would say if I started dating girls again, stringing Rae along?"

Brendan knows better than anyone how powerful lies can be, how they can be used as a weapon. He'd insisted to Eileen that he was straight, had run down the stairs after her when she'd caught him balls deep in Macca, protesting his innocence and saying that he was drunk, it was stupid, it was a mistake. He'd seen that flicker of doubt form in her eyes, that momentary belief that maybe, just _maybe_ he was telling the truth.

"Besides, I don't _want_ to be with Rae anymore, do I? I'm with you."

It's tempting, to let the boy's words sink underneath his skin, infiltrating him so much that he begins to believe that it could be real, that there's not a single other person on this earth that Steven could want to be with.

But if Brendan starts trusting that, then it'll make any loss that much harder to bear.

"What does she look like? This girl of yours."

Brendan can feel Steven's hand on him then, fingertips rubbing gently against his knuckles. He remembers when those same knuckles were red and sore from the glass that they'd punched through, and Steven's lips were the only thing that had eased the pain, soft against his skin.

He's trying that now. Trying to coax the pain from him, transferring it somewhere else entirely.

"Look at me, Bren."

Brendan can't resist the pull of his voice. It forces him to nestle in closer, to make that connection again.

"She's not my girl. I don't belong to anyone, except..."

Brendan wants him to say it. Wants to hear Steven telling him that he belongs to _him_. It's fucked up and it's twisted and he _knows_ that, but the desire's burning within him, its flame bright, resisting any attempt to be watered down by normal conventions that dictate that Brendan's fucking _insane_ for wanting to be this possessive. He's not meant to want to have this much of a claim over Steven. But nothing about this is normal, shouldn't have even fallen for the boy to begin with. It wasn't part of the plan.

He nearly keels over the fucking bed when he hears it, whispered so quietly that it's almost inaudible.

"Except you."

The boy's braver than Brendan is, looks at the Irishman, bold as brass and unashamed, and the fear's fading as fast as Brendan's doubt is growing. Doubt because _no one_ can love him this much. It should be an impossibility.

"I belong to you. Don't I?"

All Brendan can do is hum low in his throat. He's starting to sense that this may not be enough, that Steven needs more from him, more than he's sure he can give. Every time he tells him he loves him, he's faced with silence from Brendan, and his desperate attempt to fill in the space between them, space that his lack of words have created. There's an expectation there now; Steven wants him to say it, the thing that he's never said to another man, that he struggles to articulate to Cheryl, that he found difficult to speak aloud to his own children.

But he wants this. He wants to have something that belongs to him. Someone. _Steven_.

He puts an arm around the boy, pulling him in closer until he can press his lips against his hair, inhaling the scent of him, the remnants of his shampoo.

"Yes. You belong to me."

* * *

_He stopped bleeding after the fourth or fifth time, when his body adjusted. Seamus had seen the blood in the bedsheets, had watched it spiralling out of Brendan's hole, unavoidable evidence of the pain he had inflicted on his eight year old son's body. _

_He was more careful after that. He left fewer bruises, had known that there was the chance that Cheryl's mother would see them, and would stop believing that they were from the usual playground scraps that people were involved in at Brendan's age. _

_Closing his eyes helped. His father allowed him that if nothing else, didn't force Brendan to look at him when his body was being invaded. He squeezed his eyes so tightly shut that he began seeing stars, and waited for everything to pass. For it to be over, and for him to get off the bed and clean himself off, trying to remove the scent of his father from his skin. _

_He began to hate everything that Seamus did. The way he ate, as though it were human flesh, Brendan's own, that he was chewing down on. The way he whistled, a chilling edge to it that made Brendan feel as though it was his own death march. The way he touched Cheryl, hands smoothing down her back, Brendan checking for the merest sign that all of this was happening to her too. _

_Boys weren't meant to hate their daddies. But Brendan was beginning to realise that daddies weren't meant to rape their boys. _

_He wanted to take the power back. And when he was twenty seven years old, he did. He crushed Seamus's skull into the floor, watching as the blood spiralled out of him, making sure that it was thicker and redder and deeper than it had ever been from his own body. _

_Seamus was the first man he had ever killed, and Brendan sat down at the kitchen table afterwards in the near darkness, staring at his father's unmoving form, finally feeling something like freedom._

The stance of intimidation is gone. Brendan's abandoned the attempt, and he stares down at the floor in Desmond's office, eyes not meeting the man opposite him.

His mind swims with memories, memories that are always on the surface, never far from being accessed and dwelled upon. It feels like torment, feels like peace evades him at every turn. Especially here. There's something about this room, something that doesn't allow him to forget what he did. It's the knowledge that this is the purpose of this place, to _remember_, for Desmond to pry into his psyche and extract the most painful of thoughts, trying to make sense of them, to heal him.

It feels like rubbing salt into an already open wound. The fifty minutes are becoming torturous, a long and dragged out expanse of time for him to sit in silence, only opening his mouth to try and challenge the man, to try and find out what makes Desmond tick, and exploit it.

So far he's found nothing. The man hasn't risen to Brendan's attempts to provoke. He's calm as he regards him from his chair, and endlessly patient. He never tries to initiate contact, even if more than twenty minutes have passed without Brendan saying a single word.

Desmond doesn't fear him. He isn't like the other professionals that Brendan's encountered throughout the years, who he's come close to doing some real damage to. They haven't been interested in _him_, have seen him as one more statistic to add to their list. It's been something of a thrill for them, to be working with the infamous Brendan Brady, his reputation reaching them by the newspapers and words of the officers before they even meet him.

Desmond hasn't mentioned his crime. Every session Brendan can see the cross tucked underneath the man's shirt, but he's never drawn attention to the Irishman's sexuality. He's never judged or stared at him as though he's an abomination, something disgusting and abnormal. He'd barely blinked when Brendan had told him about Steven.

Brendan doesn't like the ease of the man. Doesn't like how normal he's being. They're walking on unfamiliar ground here, forming something close to a relationship, something based on trust.

It makes him feel sick, makes bile rise to his throat, the taste on his tongue. He's entertained ideas of possible ways to destroy this, of wrecking any chance he has to work alongside Desmond. He's imagined attacking the man, beating him up so badly that he has to leave the prison for months to recover. Brendan's come close, rising from his seat five minutes into the session with the full intent of brandishing his fists, only to sit down again, plan dissolving under the knowledge that he _can't_.

Brendan looks around the room to try and distract himself, looking for anything personal, anything that tells him about the kind of man that Desmond is. He searches for photographs of children, of one tucked away in the corner of his wife. But the room is bare aside from the furniture, the bed still a looming presence that makes Brendan's anxiety grow. He doesn't want it in the room.

"Have you got children?"

He knows what the answer will be before the words have fully formed.

"I'm not here to talk about my personal life, Brendan."

"So you can know everything about me, but I can't find out a single thing about you?"

He's being irrational. He understands, knows that there's a risk of telling his clients anything private. A man like Warren would track Desmond's family down within a matter of days if he was given that kind of sensitive information.

Desmond remains silent, and Brendan fidgets in his chair, trying to remain mute. His resolve is crumbling though, been far too long since he allowed himself to truly think about his own children.

"I've got two boys. Declan and Padraig."

He doesn't know why he's being specific; Desmond must already know all of this.

"I haven't seen them in years." It scares him, how unaffected he sounds by it, not a single shake to his voice. These are his _kids_, and he's missed the milestones, missed the chance of watching them grow up. He'd been witness to Steven's phone call with Leah and Lucas, had heard how much it had choked up the boy, how he'd been on the edge of tears afterwards.

He used to relish it, feeling dead inside. It's beginning to terrify him now.

"I want to see them."

He wants to take it back, wants to reach out into the air and grab the words and erase them, hates how true it is, something he hasn't admitted for a long time. He's shut them out, has denied all of their pleas to visit. He's made Eileen scream at him down the phone for what he's done to Declan, for being blunt and cold, verging on cruel with his desperation to make his son let him go, to realise that he's better off without Brendan infringing on his life, dragging him down into the depths of degradation with him.

"You can arrange a visit."

Brendan snorts. "I know that." Like it's that simple, like a maths equation that has a perfectly neat answer, wrapped in a fucking bow. "If you had kids, or if you do...would you want them near a murderer?"

Silence, again. Brendan feels like kicking his chair, would do it if it didn't seem so childish.

"My ex probably wouldn't let me anyway. If she's smart, she'll keep them as far away from me as possible. And you're thinking it too, aren't you? That I'm dangerous, that I'm a psychopath?"

He doesn't expect a reply, feels shock spike through him when Desmond's voice fills the room, firm and with more warmth that Brendan deserves.

"I don't think you're a psychopath."

"No?"

"No. You care about things, Brendan."

He can't talk, can't do anything but drink in the man's words. He wants to believe him, wants to believe that he's not a monster. That there's still something human about him.

"You care about your children. You care about Steven. You've mentioned your sister as well - Cheryl?"

Brendan's surprised that he's remembered, has only spoken her name once or twice. Desmond doesn't write anything down in the room with him, doesn't have any notes. Everything's consigned to memory.

"Yeah. Chez. She's...we're...close."

"So you have people in your life that you love."

"Yeah, but..." But he can't count on that. He can't let himself believe that they're a permanent fixture. That Cheryl and Steven won't suddenly realise that he's bound to break them eventually, that it's what he always does.

"But what?"

"I can't tell Steven that I...you know." He doesn't think Desmond will pick up on his meaning, thinks his ears are deceiving him when the man's voice rings out, compassion lacing it.

"That you love him?"

Brendan nods. It's easier, not speaking the words out loud.

"I couldn't when he told me, and...I still can't."

"Because you don't feel it?"

Brendan makes half moon marks on his palm with his fingernails. It takes the edge off the pain.

"Because I can't ask him to wait for me. I can't let him think that we have a future. I can't let him think that he deserves to be with someone like me, that he shouldn't be with a man who can give him more than I can. And...because a part of me still believes that it's wrong."

Rejection begins to seep into him when Desmond doesn't speak; rejection for his words, for what he's just revealed, and the courage it took to be honest.

Desmond's voice is quiet when he begins to talk. It's as though he's working this out at the same pace that Brendan is, trying to piece together the past and the present. It's what makes this entire process so dangerous; Brendan can't let him find out anything too close to the truth.

But he can't stop talking. It's been locked up inside him for so long, too long, and it's tumbling out now, begging to be released.

"My dad...he always taught me that it was wrong...being with...men."

It's the first time that he's ever mentioned Seamus in this room. He doesn't say anything for the rest of the session.

* * *

"Thanks for letting me tag along again," Ste says awkwardly.

He's carrying a load of Lynsey's textbooks, thinks it's the least that he can do when this is the second time that he's gatecrashed her English lesson. It's been uncomfortable, trying to explain to both her and the other men why he's suddenly joined them in class again, despite being kicked out months ago. He knows it would have been impossible if it wasn't for Brendan taking Lynsey aside, lowering his voice, coaxing and persuading her, "This is important, Lyns. I wouldn't ask if I wasn't desperate."

"It's fine. Just don't make this into a regular thing, yeah? You know I don't mind, but it's all rules and regulations, behind the scenes politics - if Tony finds out..."

"Don't worry about him. All I have to do is make him a souffle and he'll be happy."

Lynsey smiles, something like pride washing over her. "He won't stop talking about you. Reckons you're a chef in the making."

Ste nearly drops the books he's holding, still doesn't know what to do with compliments, and hopes that he hasn't turned a shade of maroon.

"He's just getting carried away, isn't he?" But fuck, he hopes he isn't. Hopes that in some alternate universe, maybe even this one, it could be true.

"Stop being modest," Doug scolds, upper half hidden behind a stack of paper that he's carrying, biros balancing on the top. He's standing next to Ste, seems half scared that if he even touches Lynsey's arm by mistake then someone will begin to suspect something. Ste feels somewhat of a gooseberry, isn't ignorant to the furtive glances that are being exchanged over his shoulder, sickeningly sweet smiles.

They're doing a terrible job of being subtle, Doug's release date making them grow slack, restless to make this thing public. Ste's forever grateful that he didn't walk in on them completely naked when he first discovered them, thinks that the image of his friend and former teacher together might have scarred him for life.

"Are we nearly there?"

"Don't you know where the library is?" Doug asks, almost falling over the stairs, looking away from Lynsey before he ends up surrounded by a sea of paper and pens on the floor.

"I've only been there once. I don't exactly read much, do I? Not like Brendan. All those classics..."

"Am I the only one who finds the image of Brendan reading Romeo and Juliet hilarious?"

"Play nice," Ste warns, doesn't want to spend an afternoon having to defend their relationship again. He's started to realise that it's something that no one else truly understands, viewing it in black and white where he sees colour, sees the many reasons why walking away from Brendan would be the biggest regret of his life.

When they enter the library Lynsey begins to get them settled, gathering them all around a table, handing out textbooks and starting the lesson. Ste had suggested a change of scene, hadn't wanted a repeat of last time, Brendan charging into the classroom and interrupting everyone, all the men observing them and watching as Brendan had searched for him desperately, on the verge of mania. At least here it's a larger space, and they can go somewhere private, away from prying eyes.

The table's too cramped for all of them, and Ste volunteers to busy himself elsewhere, searching the shelves and pretending that he recognises the titles, that he understands the different genres. He keeps within Lynsey's eye line, knowing that it's a condition of Brendan going to therapy; they made an agreement, that he stays somewhere safe in exchange for Brendan seeking help. He's not about to break that, knows how difficult it must be for Brendan to even contemplate leaving him.

He walks towards the section that holds the most interest to him, its connection to Brendan making him put aside his hesitancy about his own right to be here, to ignore the words of Pauline who had told him that he was too stupid to even pick up a book. He remembers his foolish attempt to impress Brendan, borrowing Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde to try and find some common ground, some way of making Brendan think that he has substance, isn't as feckless as Ste believes he is.

His hands move over the spines, over Wuthering Heights and Jane Eyre, Frankenstein and Pride and Prejudice. The words inside are intimidating, some of which Ste's never heard before, and he swallows down his feelings of unease, trying to remind himself that Brendan doesn't give a fuck about his intellectual capabilities. He's not Pauline, and he's not Terry, and he's not his teachers. He's not going to judge him.

He only half believes it. It's not Brendan making him doubt himself, and it makes it worse; it's himself, and his own lack of confidence that can't be solved by someone else's praise.

"What are you doing here?"

A book falls to the fall, Dracula, and Ste lets it stay there, doesn't want to give the man the chance to make him feel small, vulnerable.

The same day that Ste borrowed Jekyll and Hyde, Brendan also warned him about staying away from Silas Blissett. He hasn't managed that feat, and he realises with trepidation how closed off from the English class he's become, straying to the other side of the library. He glances around to try and locate them, but all he can hear is the twang of Doug's American accent from a distance.

Silas bends down to pick up the book, never taking his eyes off Ste. Ste registers his features, takes in the greying hair and the glasses, the tweed jacket and the un-ironed trousers, the loafer shoes.

This man shouldn't have the ability to scare him. Ste can barely believe that he's responsible for the murders of multiple woman, strangling them and stealing their jewellery, the details splashed across the newspapers for the world to see. He was branded sick, twisted, remorseless, and it doesn't go with the image of the unassuming man standing before Ste, someone's grandfather. The most aggressive thing that he's seen Silas do is knock the chess pieces off his playing board.

"Looks at bit like Brendan, doesn't he?" Silas points to the book, the picture of a vampire's face adorning the front cover, a droplet of blood escaping from his mouth.

Ste doesn't laugh.

"Do you want something?"

"I'm just making sure that you don't steal anything."

Ste raises his eyebrows, irritation replacing his fear. "And why would I do that?"

Silas smiles at him knowingly, expression cold, never any warmth overriding it. "You have form."

"That was for my kids. I'm not going to rob your poxy library books, am I?"

Silas ignores the slight, placing the book back on the shelf. "What are you doing here? I thought you were kicked out of the class."

Ste looks away in humiliation, hating how nothing's hidden in this place, least of all from a man like Silas.

"It's none of your business," he says, with as much authority as he can muster.

"I work here, Steven."

Ste freezes, unable to look away from the man. "Don't call me that. Only Brendan calls me that."

He doesn't miss the smile that fleetingly appears on Silas's face. It looks like triumph, and Ste curses himself as he realises that he's just given into it, has added fuel to the fire, delivering to the man what he wants.

"I hear you, you know. At night. I hear you."

A chill runs through him. He glances around, wetting his lips to try and stop the dryness that's forming in his mouth. There's no one here, no one in the immediate vicinity. He wants to run back to the class, wants to find Lynsey and be surrounded by the security that she offers him, the safety that a member of staff can bring. But he doesn't want to see the smug look of satisfaction on Silas's face, the knowledge that he thinks he's a coward.

"What do you mean?" He doesn't know why he's whispering now, why he's dreading the answer so intensely.

"You know what I mean."

Ste rests a hand against the shelf next to him, needing something to steady him. Silas's cell isn't even next to his or Brendan's, but something about his tone of voice makes Ste believe him, makes him believe that he's heard everything.

"That's..." He wants to say sick, but something stops him. Fear. Silas moves closer towards him, real, raw hatred in his eyes.

"You remind me of that slut Lynsey." He's so close that Ste could count his eyelashes. "Always wanting more, always taking. Greedy. Fucking that American jailbird lover of hers."

"They're not -" Ste begins, fruitlessly trying to deny it.

"Don't lie to me. Everyone knows. Just like everyone knows that Brady's screwing you. Do you enjoy being a whore, Steven?" Silas forces him to step backwards, moving in his space so much that Ste has no other choice. "Do you enjoy being another one Brendan's used and abused toys? Do you like it when he makes you scream?"

Ste's moving backwards at a rapid pace now, almost breaking out into a run. _Fucking hell, where is Lynsey? Why can't he find the exit?_

"People like you disgust me."

And Ste feels it, feels disgusting in that moment, as though Silas is all over him, crawling under his skin and he can't get him out. He wants Brendan here, needs Brendan to make this stop. He's tripping over himself with nervousness now, Silas looking at him as though it's entirely possible that he'll do this, that he'll kill him without a moment's doubt or guilt.

He tries to get back to the group, opens his mouth to start calling for help, pride be damned, but there's a hand over him then, arms dragging him backwards and away from Silas, and he doesn't know whether to be relieved or more afraid.

The moment he's led into the room, he realies that it's a trap, that he was meant to run, meant to walk straight into it. It's a supply cupboard stocked full of books, large enough to fit all three men.

Ste doesn't have to turn around to know whose got his hand over his mouth, constricting his air passage. He can feel the bulk of the stranger, his hot breath on Ste's ear, the excitement coursing through him at winning his long awaited prize.

The door shuts behind them, and it's louder than it ever was when Ste first came to prison, louder than the door which meant freedom or captivity. He doesn't know how it doesn't alert everyone in the building, waits for someone to start banging on the wood, demanding to be let in, to save him.

He realises he's not waiting for someone. He's waiting for Brendan.

Warren releases him, shoving Ste away from him roughly, the boy slamming against the wall. He narrowly avoids falling into it face on, turning his head on instinct at the last moment to escape injury. He watches as Warren composes himself, brushing his clothes down. His eyes are bright, his face flushed, and Ste knows now that he's been building up to this, that he's been waiting for this moment.

Warren digs into his pocket, and it's with confusion that Ste watches him bring out a ring, its silver glinting in the darkness of the room.

His dread only grows when he realises that it's Lynsey's, that it's a reward. Silas is reaching for it like he's Gollum, grabbing into the air when Warren teases him and holds it out of reach, laughing at the man's urgency.

"Give it to me!"

There's anger there now, boiling to the surface, and Ste sees it, catches a glimpse of what Silas is like when he drains the life from his victims.

Warren plays with him for a moment longer, his laughter high and mocking. It's only when Silas slams him against the door, hands around Warren's throat that he relinquishes; Silas may lack the youth and strength of Warren, but his grip is firm.

Warren hands him the ring, and Silas stares at it as though he's never seen something so beautiful.

"Leave us alone now, won't you?" Warren instructs, lips parted as he stares at Ste. "I want to have some...private time with young Steven here."

Silas barely seems to register the direction, just wanders aimlessly from the room, his full attention on the ring, fingers stroking over it before the door closes behind him.

The silence of the room is heavy, and it makes Ste's anticipation rise. He doesn't know whether to start screaming, whether he'll even be heard. He's wary of provoking Warren further, of making him decide to skip the intimidation and end his life abruptly. It's real for the first time, no longer a distant threat. He knows Warren will kill him.

"Brendan's going to find me..." His voice is shaking, giving away how little belief he has in his own words. Brendan will still be with Des, and he might not come and look for him afterwards, might think that he's safe with Lynsey. It could be hours before Brendan finds his lifeless body.

"I'm counting on it."

"What?"

"I want Brendan to come and find us, Steven. We wouldn't want him to miss the show now, would we?"


	33. Chapter 33

Ste feels like a cornered animal, small and defenseless, boxed into the corner of the room. It's eerily familiar, reminding him of instances when he'd been left alone in the house with Terry, and an argument had escalated. He'd somehow manage to offend his step father, would answer back too brashly, would be mouthy and unwilling to back down, and he'd find himself pushed against the wall, the man's breath hot on his face. Terry wasn't a tall man, wasn't muscular or frightening based on first appearances, but when he towered over Ste's cowering form, the boy was sure that he would kill him.

There had been obstacles in Terry's path: the threat of prison, the moment when Pauline would walk through the front door and interrupt them, witnessing the blood streaming down her son's face. She would force herself between them, bearing the brunt of bruises to avoid Terry from rendering Ste unconscious. It made her resent Ste more, made her words grow more poisonous, her drinking worsen until there was no break from it, no time when she didn't seem to be swigging from a vodka bottle, cans of beer littered around the sofa. Ste knew that there was a part of his mother that didn't want him alive, that wanted him to be in the firing line so she could escape, could get some form of relief from it.

But he _was_ alive, would be bruised and bloodied, staying off from school because he couldn't walk for days, lying in bed and clutching his sore ribs, but Terry had never taken that final step.

There are no obstacles now, nothing to stop Warren, and Ste's caught between desperately fighting for his life or surrendering. It's inevitable, the way this is going to end.

Warren's standing at the other end of the room, slouched against the door casually, face smooth and unlined. His calmness is unnerving, the lack of feeling striking terror within Ste; he doesn't know when the man's going to act, when this all going to begin. He still can't make sense of his earlier words, can't comprehend how Brendan is supposed to find them together. Warren must know that they have a limited time here, that someone will begin searching for him, but he's not _doing_ anything. It's as though he's waiting.

"If you're going to kill me, get on with it," Ste says, with more bravery than he feels.

Warren laughs, shaking his head at Ste as if he's made a fatal error. "You're asking me to end your life?"

"That's what you're here for, aren't you? That's why you locked me in here, payed Silas off with..." Ste can't bear to say it, the memory of the older man's reaction to holding Lynsey's ring making him feel nauseous. He wonders if she's next in that sick little mind of Silas's, that he's had her planned as his next victim.

"I told you. We're waiting for a special guest," Warren whispers conspiratorially, full of gleeful excitement.

"Don't bring Brendan into this." His voice is urgent now, moving closer to Warren to stress the importance of his words.

"Brendan's always been in this. Ever since he put me in a coma." His calm exterior has been threatened now; he's gritting his teeth, eyes wide and glassy.

"That wasn't Brendan." He says it like even _he_ believes it, honestly thinks that Warren's misinformed and Brendan didn't do a damn thing.

"Brendan's taught you well, I see. All these mind games, all these lies. Brendan's hated me for a long time. Long before you came here. This was his chance, wasn't it? His chance to finally kill me."

"So all that before, about you and Brendan teaming up, trying to discover who hurt you..."

Warren smirks, cocking his head to the side and surveying Ste. "I can play these games too."

"It was all just to buy you time, wasn't it? Get me alone?"

Warren steps closer to him. His face is still covered in a patchwork of bruises, reds and purples and yellows that show the damage that Brendan inflicted on him, every place where his fists and feet connected with Warren's skin. There's still a slight limp to his movements, and he's feeling the effects of dragging Ste back so forcefully into the room now; he winces when he moves. He can still take Ste effortlessly, can still overpower him. Ste wishes that he hadn't lost weight when Brendan left him, wishes that he at least stood a _chance_ here. His body's betraying him, letting him down when he needs it the most; he's not strong enough.

"He must not care about you very much, to leave you all by yourself. You think after Vinnie he would be more careful."

It's this which is the torture, his words affecting Ste more than bruises could. His voice is defensive, grappling for an explanation for himself as much as Warren.

"No, he...we have to trust each other, don't we? He does care." He's exposing his weakness, Warren's smile only growing as he realises that this has the power to break him.

"Ah, but does he love you?" Warren traps him against one of the shelves, Ste's back digging into the metal as the man's arms settle either side of him, their chests almost pressed together. "Because that's what this is really about, isn't it? Does he love you enough to save you, Ste? Or will he leave you in here to rot, feed you to the wolves? To me." Warren licks his lips, fucking _licks_ them like he's going to make a meal out of Ste, devour him whole.

Ste lets out a whimper, unable to prevent it. He sees no reason to hide his fear; he can't mask it, doesn't have that sense of detachment that Brendan's mastered, easily intimidating everyone and pretending that nothing makes him afraid.

He can't say that Brendan loves him, doesn't have an ounce of certainty that he does. He could lie, but his doubt would seep beneath he cracks, glorifying how the man's never told him, that he's been silent when Ste's spoken those three words, his inability to say them back making Ste's hope dim, the stinging feeling of rejection replacing it. He's tried to sustain himself with false platitudes: Brendan _thinks _about him, Brendan _likes_ spending time with him, Brendan's talked about their future like it's something _alive_ with possibility.

But it's not the same as love, and Warren senses that, a smile forming in the face of Ste's doubt.

"You see, it's important that Brendan comes here, that he finds us together. But if he doesn't..." Warren's eyes track Ste's body, his movements, the shaking of his hands as he makes a half hearted attempt to push the older, stronger man away. "Then it's quite poetic, don't you think? Your lover finding your dead body here."

"Why do you want him here?" Ste asks with a newfound sense of urgency. Brendan would stop him, Warren must know that, but there's no hint of uncertainty within him. Ste's eyes are constantly travelling to the door of the supply room, desperately trying to will Brendan into appearing by mind control alone, but Warren doesn't glance away from Ste's form, looks like he could stay here forever, has all the time in the fucking world.

"You ask a lot of questions, don't you? Always talking, with that little mouth of yours." Warren has one arm locked against Ste's body, holding him back against the wall and digging into Ste's flesh painfully, while his free hand begins a journey north, fingers brushing over Ste's lips.

The boy flinches, eyes screwed up tightly against the looming dread that this is nothing, that it's baby steps for a man who gets gratification from rape. The pressure of Warren's hand against his lips is harder now, more intense and impossible to ignore, and Ste feels close to releasing a droplet of blood as the older man grasps his lower and upper lips, catching them between his fingers and making Ste let out a gasp of pain.

"What do you do to him, rat boy? What does Brady make you do?"

Ste feels trapped in a nightmare, no release from the onslaught. He remembers his embarrassment at being asked these same questions by Walker and Brendan, _what do you like?_, but fuck, that was nothing like this, didn't feel like an intrusion, an _assault_. He tries to clamp his lips together, determined not to answer the man, but Warren's forcing his mouth open, and he's pressing his thigh against Ste's leg, and he's hard through the fabric of his trousers.

Ste wants to scream, feels like he's being engulfed by a black fog which is making him freeze in panic, rendering him unable to even whisper. Warren's everywhere, leaning into him, his hands moving down Ste's body, holding him still when the boy makes a vain attempt to kick him, to struggle free.

When Warren leans forward to kiss him he feels defenseless, hears himself say _no_, but the voice is unlike his own, sounds blackened with horror and fear, with the certainty of what's about to happen. He doesn't take his eyes off the door, imagines it opening and being released from his captivity, able to breathe again and not have Warren's dick rubbing against his own, his fingernails digging into Ste's shoulder and creating marks.

No one comes. Warren's mouth is crushing against his, and Ste's doing everything he can to fight now, trying to push him away, to hit him and scream for help, but the man's overpowering him, has had complete control ever since he locked him in here. There are warm salty tears running down Ste's face now, rolling into his mouth, transferred to Warren's tongue when the older man kisses him, biting Ste's lip and drawing blood.

The last thing Ste remembers before he loses consciousness is the sound of his own strangled sobs.

* * *

Brendan's steps are tentative when he leaves the therapy centre. He feels lightheaded, feels like if he doesn't move slowly then he could fall. He clears his throat, grabbing a paper cup from the water cooler and filling it with the clear liquid, swallowing down three cups before he begins walking to the library.

He can see the receptionist looking at him, knows how strange he must appear, strange for _him_ because he's never like this. She's become accustomed to seeing him taking long confident strides out of Desmond's office, or slamming the door shut behind him. Not this silence, not this nervousness as he sips at the water, wiping his perspiring forehead with the back of his shirt sleeve.

He hadn't known how to react at the end of the session. He'd settled for a rather sheepish nod of his head in Desmond's direction, believing that to attempt a smile would be too much, too mawkish. He had felt it though, had felt the atmosphere change. He'd feared mentioning Seamus's name to anyone, was difficult enough with Steven. To say it out loud felt almost blasphemous, felt like Seamus might rise from the dead in anger and smite him, dragging him to hell for all eternity with him.

The name had settled between them in the room, passing without mention or further questioning from Desmond. He'd expected the man to bring up the court case, to place his conviction between them like an impenetrable wall filled with disgust and blame. He didn't trust the way that Desmond looked at him, couldn't understand how there was empathy there, was almost tempted to remind him of what he'd done to his father, just so that his reaction would be appalled like everyone else's. That was familiar. _Safe_.

He needs to see Steven, feels an urgency to share this with someone. He doesn't want to gather false hope, doesn't want to be excited about this, about being able to mention Seamus's name and feel something like relief from being honest, from revealing something real, _my dad always taught me that it was wrong to be with men._ But it's under the surface, a spark of something, something that gives him freedom, however small.

The first thing he notices when he enters the library is the quietness. Silas has always made sure that people only speak in hushed whispers, and has thrown them out when a member of staff isn't looking if they disobey his rules. But it's never been _this_ quiet, this still. He feels his stomach twist uncomfortably, walking past the shelves and looking round corners, trying to find some evidence of life.

"Lynsey?" His voice has an edge to it, sounds desperate and begging. He _needs_ her to be here, needs Steven to be safe beside her. He'd been skeptical when Steven had mentioned a change of location, but the boy had sworn to him that he'd keep within the group's sight at all times.

Brendan suddenly feels that he was incredibly reckless and stupid to place his trust in this. Steven's stubborn, has proven this on more than one occasion. Brendan's calling out his name, voice high pitched, sure that Steven wouldn't have left without waiting for him, knowing that they'd arranged to meet here beforehand.

Is he rebelling, is that it? Is it a test, something to push Brendan's limits and make him go crazy with worry? Anger swells within him; doesn't Steven know how important he is? How the boy's safety is the thing that keeps him up at night, considering murdering Warren and extending his sentence just to ensure that Steven's not harmed?

He doesn't believe that Steven would be that cruel, that he'd make him pace the library's floors, panic increasing when he finds no trace of the boy, no suggestion that he's been here at all.

It's not until he nears the entrance to the library again that he understands what's happened, feels a raining blow land on the back of his head. It makes him double up, makes his eyes water with pain, his chest hitting one of the book shelves, his hands gripping it to stop himself from falling.

"Warren..." It's not a plea; he doesn't expect mercy from this breed of monster. When Brendan crashes to the floor from another punch, his eyes scan the room and search for Steven, to see where Warren's placed him, sure that he's to blame for the boy's absence. He frantically tries to stand up when he sees nothing, to keep his head clear enough to locate the boy. He's scared of losing consciousness, scared of allowing Warren one single second of leeway in order to kill Steven. Brendan can't allow himself to think that it can happen. Steven's _not_ going to die, not today or any other day that Brendan's on this earth.

* * *

When Ste opens his eyes, his entire body aches. He feels a pressure on his arms and realises that Warren's bound him with cable ties, the ones that Ste's often seen being used in the prison garden, tying up large bags of weeds. There's dried blood on his t-shirt from where it's spilled from his lip. He's still clothed though, and he doesn't hurt _there; _he'd woken terrified that Warren had raped him while he'd been unconscious, the memory of the older man's cock rubbing against him still vivid in his mind.

His shirt and tracksuit bottoms feel like the only form of protection that he has, the only part of him which isn't naked and exposed and humiliated. He wishes that his hands were free so that he could wipe his lips. They feel damaged from Warren's touch.

Ste looks around for what Warren used as a weapon to make him lose consciousness. He gasps into the silence of the room, making out Brendan's pale and unmoving form across the floor from him, his head hanging forwards. His hair's coated with a light layer of blood, his wrists raw and red from the ties. Ste's never seen him look so physically defenseless, so at the power of another person. It's not his rightful state: Brendan's not a victim.

"Brendan." He whispers it, terrified that Warren's hiding somewhere in the room, waiting for them to wake. He gets no response, and when he tries to maneuver his legs to lightly push against Brendan's own, the ties securing his feet don't allow him any leverage. Everything's too constricted, the result of a carefully thought out plan. There's no route of escape, and he feels tears smart in his eyes from being held so completely captive.

"Brendan, please. Please, you've got to wake up." He sounds like a child, fearful and alone. Unwelcome thoughts are attacking him. _What if he's...what if he's not going to wake up? What if he never..._

Ste tries to keep his expression neutral when the door opens. He's not naive enough to think that it's a rescuer. He doesn't know how long he was out cold for, but he can't hear any sound of movement from outside. He's sure that Lynsey and Doug have left, thinking that he's safe back in his cell. It could be hours before the alarm's raised.

Warren quirks his head to the side, watching as sweat pools down Ste's face in the effort to try and release himself from the binds. He doesn't care that he risks making the man do even more damage to him; he needs to get out of here, needs to make sure that Brendan's seen by a nurse, before anything permanent and irreversible is done to him.

"You're not getting out of those things," Warren says, matter of fact.

"Watch me." Ste can hear the sound of the older man's laughter as he struggles, groaning at the attempt to free his trapped hands. He knows Warren's right - the material's sturdy, and Ste's only exhausting himself further by fighting against it. Warren's eyeing him like he's a type of entertainment, something to keep him amused. He's _enjoying_ this.

Warren crouches down, touching a hand to Brendan's hair. When he draws back he's covered in the red, sticky coating of Brendan's blood, and he stares at it in fascination.

Ste looks away.

"Shall we wake him up?" Warren's voice is lowered, as though they're two friends sharing a secret, playing a childhood game that's within the boundaries of right and wrong. This is normality to him.

"Please, it's not too late. You can let us out of here. I won't tell anyone, I promise."

Warren laughs, a sneer to his mouth. "How many times do you think I've heard that one? It's what you all try."

Ste wonders how many others there have been. If Warren makes a habit of this, torture becoming a type of sport.

"She said it too."

Ste has to strain to hear him, and his brain works on overdrive, trying to make sense of Warren's muddled, convoluted speech. His eyes are glazed over, the sheen of blood still on his hands, and he's not talking to _him_ now. He's directing his words into the darkness of the room, letting them float through the air, disappearing into the stillness.

"She held a gun to my head, told me that she was going to kill me. Then I turned the tables on her, and that's when she told me. _You can let me go. I won't say a word._" He lets out a noise, sounds like something between a laugh and a disbelieving sob. Ste doesn't know whether to keep him talking, whether this is a good thing. He's still alive, still relatively unharmed, but the longer that they stay here the more blood Brendan's losing.

"I mean it. I'll say that Brendan got into an accident. I won't even mention you."

"Do you think I'm stupid?"

Ste can't hold it in any longer, feels his anger brimming to the surface. "Well you must be if you're keeping me here."

Warren's eyes are wide, livid.

"Someone's going to find out what you've done. Tony -"

"I could get Tony killed. And Doug, and Ethan, and all your other little friends." Warren grabs holds of him by the scruff of his t-shirt, pulling Ste towards him forcefully. "Your boyfriend," he hisses, and Ste shakes against the feel of Warren's breath on his cheek, nowhere he can escape to.

In one fluid motion he shoves Ste back, his spine hitting against the shelf, a groan of pain emitted from his mouth. Warren's gaze is remorseless.

"Now lets start making things interesting."

He turns towards Brendan, and Ste watches in shock to see what the older man's next move is, Brendan's head still lolling forward onto his chest, his eyes closed. Warren taps his palm against the Irishman's face, trying to rouse him. When there's no response he slaps him, so hard that Ste feels as though the sound is still ringing in his ears minutes later.

"Stop it, you're hurting him!" Ste cries out, distress twisting his voice.

Warren stares at him in bafflement, a hint of amusement there, _that's the whole idea. _

Brendan's cheek is colouring from the indent of Warren's hand, but he still hasn't stirred. Ste whines low in his throat,_ please don't leave me, don't leave me here in this world alone. _

Warren reaches along the floor and picks up the bottle of water that lies beside him, unscrewing the top then positioning it over Brendan's head, letting the contents wash over him, soaking through his shirt. There's a merest flicker of Brendan's eyes, a momentary movement which makes Warren release a satisfied hum, leaning back on his heels and observing his handiwork and waiting for Brendan to regain full consciousness, for the realisation of his entrapment to overcome him: the cable ties, the fact that he's not alone, that his best attempts to protect Ste have failed.

The knowledge leeches through slowly; Brendan's eyes open, their lids heavy, his forehead creased in apparent pain. He blinks several times as though trying to take in the appearance of the room, the memory of how he came to be here. Any semblance of calm leaves him when he takes in his surroundings, observing the bound spectacle of the boy beside him, and Warren inches away from them both, reveling in the situation that he's so carefully orchestrated.

"Brendan. Nice of you to join us." Warren sounds like he's reading from a pre-planned script, waiting for Brendan to say the appropriate line. Brendan swallows, turning his attention from Warren, scanning Ste's body for injuries, eyes settling over the red marks that have formed on his wrists from his struggle with the ties.

"Are you hurt?" His voice is thick, torn at the edges. Ste shakes his head, trying to hold back the outpouring of emotion which is demanding to be freed.

He thought Brendan was dead.

"You sure?" Brendan questions again, and he looks as though a lie might destroy him, might make him keel over and never be able to get back up.

"Really, I'm fine."

Brendan reluctantly tears his eyes away, and when he looks at Warren his expression is guarded, controlled, authority replacing its previous softness.

"If you hurt him, I'll kill you."

Warren stands up, towering over them both. "Like you tried to do last time, you mean?"

Brendan doesn't break eye contact, his tone measured. "That wasn't me. Whoever put you in the hospital, it had _nothing_ to do with me." His voice doesn't betray anything; no guilt, no hint of doubt.

It incenses Warren, makes him abandon his former composure, hand clenching tightly around one of the shelves, jaw locked.

"You're a very good liar."

"I'm not lying," Brendan answers back immediately. "What's my motive?"

Warren's laugh is high and uncontrolled. He paces the room, wringing his hands as Brendan follows his movements from below. Ste gathers some strength from the display, from how Warren's increasingly crumbling and Brendan's stance is relaxed, the only evidence of his tension being a slight shake of his hands from behind his back.

"You hate me."

Brendan rolls his eyes. "Grow up, Foxy. We're not in a playground. I'm not going to go to the effort of beating you up because I don't like you. You think I'm going to risk getting another ten, fifteen years in this place?"

"Why would you care? You'll be here for the rest of your life, makes no odds."

Brendan flinches, regaining himself a moment later, face impassive once more. He speaks slowly, enunciating every syllable. "It wasn't me."

Ste knows that it's a mistake the moment that the words are out of his lips; Warren releases a shout of fury, charging forward and punching Brendan in the face repeatedly; wild, frenzied blows that land on Brendan's eyes and cheek and mouth, drawing more blood and making Ste cry out, fighting against the ties and crying harder still when he can't break free of them. He's sure that this is it, that he's going to be made to watch while Warren beats Brendan to death in front of him.

His lips part in surprise when Warren's hands still in mid air, their knuckles reddened, bruises already gathering.

He doesn't breathe.

Brendan stares between them, his eyes swollen, and he looks like he desperately wants to keep Warren there beside him, wants to take punch after punch if it means that _he's_ the one in pain, _he's_ the one at the centre of it.

Warren extends a hand, settling it over Ste's face, a single finger stroking down his cheek as Brendan begs and pleads with him, fragile and exposed and desperate, _don't, stop_, and Ste wonders if he sounded like this when his father was raping him, and it's too much for him to take; there are tears cascading onto his lips and chin, and he can't brush them away.

"Lets see if you're like Ethan," Warren whispers, and he pulls Ste as far as the ties will stretch, making sure that they don't unravel. Ste can hear a scream, but it sounds distant now, as though he can't reach the source. It's strangled, sorrowful, and he blocks his ears against it when it hurts too much.

He feels outside of his body when Warren's weight lands heavily on him, the man straddling him as he unbuckles his jeans, and then there's no material covering Warren, his cock springing free from his underwear, the hard jut of it that Ste had felt earlier. He can still hear that scream, but he's eerily quiet, feels like he's already been stripped of something, his dignity torn from him. If this is going to happen then he doesn't want to feel. He begins to shut himself down, tries to switch off the cogs of his churning mind, silence the thoughts that are making him feel like he's going to suffocate.

Warren's smiling at him, settling his cock over Ste's lips, rubbing it back and forth, back and forth, and the screaming never stops, nor the sound of Brendan struggling to be able to use his hands again. Ste's paralysed with fear, and even if he was able to move, he's sure that he couldn't do a damn thing now. He lies like a corpse on the floor, mouth forced open by Warren's hands, until the tip of Warren's cock is inserted over his fleshy tongue, the taste bitter, the older man trying to force more of himself inside.

Ste gags, spluttering as Warren ignores his discomfort and humiliation, placing his hands on Ste's cheeks and holding them open wider, making Ste take him in. Brendan sounds like a wounded animal beside him, his voice raw and scratched from overuse, and Ste's convinced that someones going to hear and open the door, and _fucking hell, _someones got to save them, haven't they?

His mouth's full of Warren's cock, and he squeezes his eyes closed to block out the images, but the smell and feel and taste of it can't be erased, can't be ignored. The older man's beginning to rock gently now, hips thrumming, and Ste's defenseless, can only open his mouth wider to accommodate, has no other choice. He tries to bite, tries to draw blood and make Warren stop, but Warren's wise to his game and digs his nails into Ste's shoulder blades every time he attempts it. The pain's searing, and all he can do is remain motionless, Warren thrusting into his mouth.

There's no end to the onslaught, and when Ste chances a glance at Brendan he regrets it acutely; his face is red and blotchy, tears frozen there, his body heaving from his continued attempts to wrangle himself out of his binds. Ste's certain that Warren's not going to stop until he comes and he can hear that the man's close, thinks that his ordeal may soon be at an end.

_When did it end?_

_It never ends. _

Suddenly he can breathe again.

Ste's gums feel sore and bruised, and he's still gaping from having Warren inside him, but he closes his mouth hurriedly, daring to believe that something's happened: a noise from outside to startle Warren, an abandonment of his plan.

"What can I do with you now, hmm?" Warren muses, tongue between his teeth, hand moving to keep his cock erect.

Ste's hope dies.

"Kill me." Brendan's voice is the merest whisper. His eyes are black, sunken and hollow.

"What?" Warren asks, and there's amazement there that he doesn't manage to disguise.

"No," Ste says, knows too well how Brendan's mind works, how a martyr exists within him, and he's not going to let him do this.

Brendan ignores him.

"Kill me instead." His voice is full of conviction. "Rape me. Do whatever you want to me. Just don't..." Brendan hesitates, unable to say the word again. "Don't hurt him."

Warren smirks, hand rubbing over his shaft. "That's too easy, for someone like you. Do you think I'm going to let you win? Death's too good for you, Brendan."

He slowly rises, shrugging himself fully out of his jeans, throwing his shirt to the side with them. He's exposed, Brendan and Ste dressed, covered, but there's no bargaining over power; one man has it, and two men don't.

"I'll kill you." There's very little fight left in Brendan's voice. "That little sister of yours. I'll kill her too."

Warren tuts, surveying Brendan like he's something small. "It's all just talk with you, isn't it? Idle threats. How are you going to touch anyone on the outside? You don't have any friends." Warren stares down at Ste. "You won't even have a boyfriend soon. Sorry about that, by the way," he says lightly. "It must be really difficult for you. All these years, all these boys, and you finally, _finally_ find someone you love, and..." Warren shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly. "I fuck him and kill him. Life's a bitch."

Warren strips off his boxer shorts, standing before them naked now. He turns towards Ste, the boy's jaw still aching from the assault, his body tensed, pulse fluttering like it's trying to tear itself from his body.

"It's nothing personal, rat boy. Okay, so that's a lie," Warren says, laughing to himself. "But in another life, you and me...we could have been friends."

Ste can't hit him, can't kick him, but he gathers saliva in his mouth and spits squarely in Warren's face, hatred and revulsion making it brutal, violent in nature. For a moment Warren seems stunned into silence and inaction, his eyes closed, and Ste jumps in fear when he's abruptly rolled onto his front, his trousers roughly pulled until they're gathered around his ankles, his underwear quickly following until his arse is exposed. He can hear Brendan calling his name, blood rushing in his ears, underneath his skin.

He can feel the large building pressure of Warren's dick pressing against his hole, and he's going to enter him, this is it now, he's going to be raped and he can't even cry anymore, can't make a single sound, and is this what it's like to be dead? Will it make any difference, Warren ending his life when he already feels like this?

He turns to Brendan, needs to see him one more time before everything changes, but he's not Brendan at all anymore; he's gone, and there's only the blank terror of grief in his place, the sheer devastation of it, like the after effects of an earthquake, when nothings been left behind.

A goodbye forms on Ste's lips.

Then there's a sound, like an explosion. A struggle. A fight. Swearing, and groans of pain. Ste's being knocked into, and he's still naked from the waist down.

Then he's being carried.

His body's sprawled like a rag doll's in his rescuer's arms, and his jacket's being draped over him to cover his modesty. The person's arms are warm and strong and secure, and Ste loops his own around their neck, holding on for dear life.

He glances back at the retreating room, and his heart bangs painfully in his chest when he sees Brendan still trapped there, Warren motionless beside him, cheek pressed to the floor.

"Brendan -" He says desperately, hand reaching back into thin air, trying to feel him under his fingertips.

"We'll come back for him."

"No." Ste's the one screaming now, his body thrashing with the need to go back. He can't leave without Brendan.

"We'll make sure you're safe, then -"

"No," he insists again, trying to escape the man's hold and run back. Warren could wake up, and they could be too late. "Get Brendan."

"But -"

"I'm not going anywhere without Brendan. I'll tell them you did this, I'll accuse you of the whole fucking thing if you don't go back. You know that I'll do it. You know that I'm capable. _You know_."

"You're such a stubborn bastard."

"_Please_."

The man deliberates, then sighs and doubles back, his footsteps fast, grasping Ste close to his chest. He releases Ste gently onto the floor when they reach the room, taking a pen knife from his pocket as though he's had it here the whole fucking time, using it to effortlessly cut Brendan free. The Irishman collapses forward, nearly crashing to the floor before Ste holds him up, supporting Brendan and stroking his hands down his back, seeking comfort from how very alive he is.

Walker maneuvers his hand in between them, ending their brief display of affection.

"Lets get the fuck out of here."


	34. Chapter 34

Steven stares at the blood on his fingertips, the red creating a dye on his hands.

"You need stitches." He strokes a path down Brendan's hair, where it's still afflicted by the aftereffects of Warren's attack.

"No," Brendan replies, immediately taking Steven's hands and directing him towards the sink. Steven allows himself to be led, watching as Brendan runs the tap and washes his hands underneath the faucet, the blood swirling away and being replaced by clean skin. Brendan's hands cover the marks that the ties have left on the boy's wrists.

They stand in silence, Brendan's touch light and sparing.

"Your head could be split open."

"I think I'd know if it was," Brendan says quietly, moving soap gently over Steven's forearms.

"Just get it checked out, please."

Brendan sighs, closing his eyes momentarily and leaning against the mirror, taking his hands off Steven.

"After everything that's...you want me to go to the hospital, leave you on your own?"

"I can stay with him."

Brendan turns, looking at Walker with barely concealed distaste. The man's surveying them from the bed, body stretched out, a look of casualness that makes Brendan want to scream.

"Oh, here we go."

"What?" Walker asks, eyebrows raised.

"I knew it was only a matter of time before you started chiming in, trying to throw your weight around."

There's an edge of aggression to Brendan's actions, and Steven has to put a hand on him warningly, the Irishman beginning to advance forward.

"I don't want you collapsing on the floor, Brendan. That's it. There's no ulterior motive."

Brendan lets out a disbelieving laugh, his body tense and rigid underneath Steven's touch.

"There's always a fucking ulterior motive with you, isn't there? How did you even know where we were? Did you organise the whole thing with Warren, is that it? Is this your plan, to lure us back here, get me to leave and then have Steven all to yourself?"

Brendan sees an emotion flicker across Walker's face, something he's rarely seen from the man before: hurt. It looks foreign, as though it doesn't match his features, doesn't align with the image that he's built in his head of who Walker is.

"I saw Lynsey and Doug in the English classroom, and they said they hadn't seen him. I just wanted to check on him, see where he was."

Brendan scoffs, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. "Of course you did. Because that's your business, isn't it?" He shakes his head, shrugging his arm out from Steven's hold. "Did I ever tell you to do that, Simon? Did I tell you that you could be the one to look out for him?"

Walker leans forward on the bed, arms crossed. "With all due respect, Ste would be in a much worse condition right now if I hadn't walked in when I did. He would have been -"

"Yes, alright. We don't need the details," Brendan interrupts, starting to pace the cell. "I could of...I could of dealt with it on my own." It's a mumble, barely audible, his eyes glassy and unseeing.

"Brendan, your hands were bound. We all know that if you could of, you would have helped."

"Don't patronise me."

"I'm not."

Brendan moves forward, crushing Walker against the wall. Steven surges towards them, clawing at Brendan's back desperately, but to no avail. Brendan ignores his presence, his eyes focused on the man before him.

"Don't you dare patronise me."

"It wasn't your fault," Waller says slowly, and Brendan can feel the man's pulse flittering under his hand, the erratic thrum of it. He wants to do what he couldn't earlier, wants to brandish his fists and use them like knives. He'd fought against the ties so fiercely that he'd half believed that he could work himself free, could be strong enough to escape. The shelf had rattled behind him as he'd pushed against it, would have made the whole damn thing tear from its holding if he could have reached Steven, stopped the boy from lying on the floor, pale and unmoving, eyes wide with fear, looking like he was resigned to his fate. _Accepting_ it.

Brendan's so tantalizingly close, wants to do the kind of damage that'll feel sweet and heady, will replace all this chaos with something that sends power spiking through his veins. But he can hear Steven's voice filtering through, the frantic need for him to stop, to turn around and face him and let go of Walker, but he can't. He _can't_. It's something real and concrete to hold onto.

Walker doesn't seem to sense the danger that he's in, or if he does then he's intent on ignoring it.

"We need to talk about what we're going to do with Warren." They've left him there, slumped against the floor, and the thought that he could have already woken up terrifies Brendan. He'd left Steven alone for less than an hour and the man already wormed his way in, got him trapped and defenseless. Steven's here but it's not enough, not close to the certainty that Brendan needs.

"I'm gonna kill him."

There's no other option now, never was from the moment that Warren laid a hand on Steven. It's what Brendan should have done months ago, should have made sure that the job was finished, that there was no room for error, no hospitals or comas or comebacks, just a permanent removal of the man from all their lives.

He hears a quiet voice behind him, a trembling lilt to it.

"No."

Brendan doesn't allow himself to face Steven. "It's not up for discussion."

"If you think that I'm not getting a say in this -"

"You're not," he says unequivocally, praying that for once in his life Steven will let this go, won't be forceful and argumentative, will just _listen_ to him.

"I'm not letting you kill someone for me."

"Then let me kill him for me. Because I'd really enjoy it. Don't be selfish."

Steven doesn't laugh. "And what, get yourself another life sentence? Because that would make Cheryl and your kids really proud, wouldn't it? And how am I meant to live out there, knowing that you're on your own in here forever?"

"It would be worth it."

"For you, maybe. But not for me. Nothing's worth that."

"What's going on?"

They stare into the doorway, following the direction of the voice. Brendan backs off from Walker, and the man uses the distraction to slink away, out of the room and out of sight while Brendan stalks towards their visitor, his eyes dark as he stares accusingly at the American.

His hands are solid around the boy's neck, his grip firm. He can see Douglas's eyes beginning to water, his face redden from the pressure that Brendan's exerting. There are voices filtering his senses, Douglas's own strained one, but only one is able to reach him, entering through the white noise.

Steven's hands are on his own, trying to force him to release his hold, but Brendan easily ignores the boy's touch, not allowing it to distract him. Douglas is pinned against the wall, back slamming onto it every time that Brendan decides to go that much further, cause that much more pain. It's a game, except it's lost its fun: Brendan _needs_ to do this, had been baying for blood since the moment that he saw Steven trapped in the library beside him.

His questions are demanding, his voice twisted with anger and something that's far more entrenched, dangerously close to hurt and fear and the grief that's clawing underneath his skin at how close he came to losing Steven, at how he had to watch while Warren took something that wasn't his.

His hold tightens.

"Stop!" Steven's desperate now, scraping his nails along Brendan's arms and hands to try and make him let go, but Brendan's getting far too much pleasure from watching Douglas's contorting face.

"Brendan, I'm begging you."

His grip lessens: he remembers what happened the last time that Steven had begged and fought.

Douglas takes in a deep lungful of air, using the opportunity to try and regulate his breathing, fucking lucky that he _is_ still breathing.

Steven senses his hesitance, his tone persuasive, his voice low.

"Just come and sit down, yeah? I'll get you some water."

Brendan wants to laugh; hollow, manic, furious laughter at how fucking ridiculous and wrong this is, Steven comforting _him_. Talking to him as though _he's_ the one who needs protecting.

"I don't..." He stutters, palms growing damp and clammy, the artificial lighting in the room feeling too exposing, shining brightly on him like a spotlight. He's suddenly aware of how out of control he must look. Steven's lip is cut, his clothes are covered in the blood from his own wounds and the ones that were transferred between the two of them, and the first thing Brendan does is _this_ - puts his hands around Douglas's throat, half believing that perhaps he can fix everything if he has someone to blame.

"You should never have left him," he whispers. It's still not erasing anything, still isn't making it better. Douglas has the good sense to look guilty, doesn't try to escape from Brendan's proximity when his hands slacken, looks like he thinks he deserves this.

"It wasn't Doug's fault."

Brendan doesn't look at Steven, just closes his eyes and allows himself to listen to that voice, to the familiar sound, lets himself believe that he's here, that he's safe. Steven's beside him, and Brendan can feel their arms brush against each other lightly, can smell the aftershave that the boy had applied this morning.

He wants to hold him, but he doesn't trust himself to be able to let go.

"He should have stayed with you."

He can hear Steven begin to argue back, is surprised when Douglas intervenes, voice rising above them both.

"He's right, Ste. I should have known. I should have felt that something wasn't right. I'm just glad that you're okay."

There's silence, and neither of them fills it with platitudes, don't reassure Douglas, so much easier for him to think that they've thwarted any danger, that it could have been so much worse.

Brendan has to open his eyes, images flickering behind his lids, intimidating and unwelcome; he can still see the smile of satisfaction on Warren's face, and the blankness of Steven's eyes. He remembers the sound of the flies of Warren's jeans being undone, and the absolute certainty that Brendan had about what was going to happen next.

He was closed lipped and obedient when Seamus had come into his bed when he was a boy; with Steven, he felt like his organs were being ripped from him, torn out by his need to save him. He wanted to be back in that bedroom with his father, would have done anything if it meant that Steven was somewhere else entirely.

He hadn't been able to take the power back.

"Shall we tell Ethan?"

"No," Brendan replies immediately, grateful for the distraction.

"But he'll want to know -" Douglas tries to insist.

"What he wants and what he needs aren't the same thing. Trust me. Surviver's guilt."

"What?"

"He'll feel guilty," Brendan explains. "That it was Steven, and not..."

Douglas frowns, staring between the men. "Wait, what exactly happened in there? Did Warren -"

"Haven't you got somewhere to be, Douglas? You're good at that, aren't you? Disappearing?"

Douglas closes his mouth, swallowing the argument that threatens to rise.

"Please, can you just not?" Steven rubs his hand over his face, looking more exhausted than Brendan's ever seen him. The golden tone that's always been a permanent fixture of his skin has faded to a stark paleness, making him look older than his twenty three years.

"Can you two just pretend to get along for five seconds?"

"Your boyfriend's just tried to strangle me," Douglas says, stroking his neck, hands gliding over the patches of colour that have developed. "If you start threatening Lynsey for leaving him too -"

"I would never," Brendan interjects, has never hurt a woman in his life, would rather die than lay a hand on the person who gave him a chance in here. "She can do better than -"

"Please." Steven's staring at them heatedly now and it deflates Brendan, the boy's anger making his own crumble. "I want...I want to get changed." He stares down at his stained clothes and Brendan follows his gaze, wonders whether Douglas can tell, can sense what happened to Steven in that room. Does he look different now? Is it noticeable, what Warren did? What he tried to do?

"Of course," Brendan says, voice quivering before he clears it, steadies it. "I'll leave you alone." He heads towards the door, a hand on Douglas's shoulder to steer the boy.

"What are you -"

"You're coming too," he insists, and some of the tension leaves him when Douglas is out of the room; he doesn't like this closeness, hasn't understood the concept of friendship for years, nor sought it out, and he wants it for Steven even less. The boy's too desirable for his own good. Anything could happen.

Brendan turns back towards Steven, eyes downcast as he fumbles for the edge of the door, beginning to close it and allow him privacy, feels suddenly ashamed at the mere idea of seeing Steven without his clothes on. He won't want that, won't want anyone to see him that exposed.

"I didn't...I didn't say you had to leave." Steven isn't looking at him. There's no hint of the boldness there that Brendan's come to know. It's left him. He's too quiet, too tentative. Too entirely unlike Steven.

"It's okay. I'll just be behind this door. Call me if you need anything." He trails off, nothing that Steven _could_ need him for after he let him down when it mattered the most.

Brendan closes the door before he can see Steven's reaction. He's relieved that Douglas has already gone, doesn't trust himself around him when Steven's not here to act as a buffer. The only thing that's stopping him from seeking him out is the knowledge of what Steven would say if he did: the look of disappointment, and the threat of rejection that would arise because of it.

Brendan leans his back against the door, preventing anyone from seeing inside the screen window, and to try and mold his body into it, make him stay in place so he can't hurt anyone.

God is playing games with him today. Douglas is gone from his path, but Walker strolls towards him, still casual as fuck, and Brendan releases a drawn out sigh that doesn't even begin to convey the true frustration that he feels about the situation. There's nowhere he can escape to in here, and a man like Walker is impossible to hide from.

"Fancy sharing?" He nods to the door, and Brendan stares him up and down until he gets the message, leaning against the wall instead.

Brendan doesn't share.

"How's the kid?"

"How do you think?"

"What did Warren do to him?"

Brendan shakes his head resolutely: no comment.

"I'm not trying to pry."

"That's exactly what you're doing. This isn't a gossip magazine, Simon. I'm not going to feed you the latest scoop. This is _Steven_."

"I just want to know how bad the damage is."

Brendan turns towards him, a sneer on his face. "Why? Is that how you get your kicks?" He scans Walker's face, trying to ascertain if there's a twisted satisfaction there, a reaping of rewards from Warren causing so much destruction.

"Did you really mean what you said before? You think I planned this?"

"Do I have any reason to believe you didn't?"

"I wouldn't do that to Ste. To you."

"How many times have I heard you being like this? Innocent, sincere? I know you too well," Brendan reminds him.

"Then you'll know that I've never raped anyone in my life. I'd never even think of helping Warren -"

"He didn't penetrate him." Brendan's voice rings out, making Walker still in his own protestations, his argument dying on his lips. He didn't want to tell anyone about what happened in that room, but if Walker thinks that Steven was fucked then _he'll_ start thinking about it, imagining it, and he won't, he _can't_.

"He stopped...you stopped him before he could." It kills him that he can't say that it was him, that _he_ stopped it.

Walker smoothes his hand over his face, does a good impression of a person who cares.

"That fucking...he was going to do it in front of you, wasn't he? Make you watch the whole thing."

"That was the plan." Brendan says stoically. He should of given Warren more credit: he'd devised the entire thing perfectly, knew what would cause maximum impact, would hurt the most.

"What...what did he do?"

Brendan looks at him, lips tightly drawn together, hands gripped into fists by his side.

"I told you -"

"I'm not enjoying this." Walker says shortly, disgust peppering his voice. "You think I wanted Ste to go through that? But you need to think about these things, Brendan. Get the boy some help."

Brendan snorts. "You're advising me to get a shrink for him now?_ You? _You've spent your whole life mocking people like that."

"Maybe you've converted me."

Brendan stiffens, looking at him sharply.

"I saw you and...what's his name? Daz?"

"Desmond," Brendan says before he can stop himself, feels a strange twinge of irritation at Walker for getting the name wrong. He realises his mistake, coughing to disguise the rising discomfort there. He should have outrightly denied it. "When did you find out?"

"A couple of days ago."

"And you just happened to be skulking around the therapy centre?"

Walker shrugs, playing idly with his nails. "Maybe I followed you."

Brendan rolls his eyes. "Of course you fucking did."

"I was curious about what could make you leave Ste on his own, knowing that there was a sadistic rapist pig on the loose. Can't blame a man for worrying."

"No, but I can blame a man for stalking me."

Walker looks at him indulgently, as though he's doing a good deed, is a virtual saint for being this patient. "You call it stalking, I call it showing concern."

Brendan ignores his convoluted version of logic.

"I'm doing it for Steven. To...stay with him," he admits, looking anywhere but at Walker.

"I don't blame you. I'd do anything to keep the boy in my bed too."

Walker raises his hands in defense when Brendan advances towards him.

"I almost hit you once today. Please give me an excuse to do it properly this time."

"You're so dramatic, darling."

Brendan grabs the lapels of Walker's shirt, pressing their foreheads together, panting angry, hot breaths.

"Don't ever call me that."

"Does this remind you of anything? You, me, anger..." Walker licks a stripe across his lips, a hint of a smile playing upon them.

Brendan lets him go.

"Why did you come here? Was it to tell me that you know about the therapy, use it against me?"

Walker smoothes down his clothes, removing the creases that Brendan's created.

"I wanted to see if Ste's okay. And to remind you of my offer."

"You're not involved in this. You're not any part of it."

"I could be, if you for one second think about what's best for him instead of you."

"So splitting us up, making him think that I didn't want to be with him - that was in his best interests?" Brendan asks incredulously.

"In all fairness, you're the one who didn't trust him. Who pushed him away. Who started flirting with Kevin - although I can see why. He's good in bed."

Brendan's sure that if they were holding glasses right now, Walker would clink them in his honour, raise a fucking toast to him.

Brendan laughs, the opposite of what he wants to do.

"Just hear me out," Walker continues. "Then you can always say no -"

"No."

"Brendan," he says sternly.

Brendan crosses his arms, glancing quickly into the window to find Steven balling his stained clothes up into a pile, a hoodie, t-shirt and a pair of tracksuit bottoms replacing them. Even from a distance, Brendan can still see the cut area of his lip, the red rings around his wrists from the ties that Warren used. He's not the same, even with new clothes.

"Go on," he murmurs. He never wants to see Steven like this again, can't risk it. His pride's going to have to take a back seat.

"Whenever you see this therapist -" Brendan flinches. _This_ _therapist_. "I'll look after him. Lynsey's beautiful, but she's not exactly going to stand much of a chance against Warren, is she? Look at what happened today - she took her eye off the ball, and that's all it took. A couple of minutes, and Ste was gone. I won't do that. Ever."

"I don't want you to be alone with him." Brendan can't even believe he's negotiating. Everything's screaming at him not to. "Go to the canteen, or the gym, or the games room. But don't take him to your cell, or his. If I find out that you have -"

"I don't think Ste would let me, would he? Like I said - stubborn fucker."

Brendan's jaw is rigid. "And don't ever call him that."

Walker sighs, but says nothing. A silent agreement, however reluctant.

"If you even mention your contract -"

"It's not my fault if the boy brings it up."

Brendan stares at him warningly.

"You really need to get one of those sense of humour things."

"I'll put it on my shopping list," he drawls. "If you even try and touch him -"

"Then you'll kill me. I get it, okay? We'll talk about the weather, and the colour of the walls, and how good a fuck you are..."

When Steven opens the door of the cell, it's to find Brendan pushing Walker against the wall. The boy rubs his forehead, weary.

"You're like my parents sometimes."

Brendan breaks apart, embarrassed to have been caught. "I wasn't going to..." He stumbles, doesn't want Steven to think that he was about to hurt Walker, even if he was. Even if it's exactly what he needs.

"Yes you were," the boy says knowingly, lacking the energy to be appalled. He's pulled his sleeves down in an attempt to cover the marks of the binds, but his clothing isn't long enough; his wrists peek out, and Brendan feels a stab of pain whenever he sees the scars, so much worse than his own.

"You've changed." He feels a fool for stating the obvious.

"Yeah."

"I can get rid of the other clothes, if you want," Brendan says, keeping his voice soft and measured.

"Why?" Steven asks, confusion clouding his expression.

"I just thought...you might not want to keep them."

Steven shrugs. "They're just clothes. I'll wear them again."

"Right." Brendan shuffles, looking towards the floor. "Steven, I've got some...business to attend to. Walker's going to stay with you."

Steven looks between the two men in disbelief. He's battle scarred, but he looks beautiful, and it hurts to look at him, and it hurts to look away.

"You're leaving me with him?"

Walker pretends to be offended, gasping.

"If you don't want me to -"

"No, I just...I thought you didn't..."

"Things are different now."

Steven nods, understanding leeching through.

"I won't be long." Brendan's about to take the boy's head in his hands, about to kiss him, but he stops, visibly withdrawing. "I'll see you soon."

"Brendan?"

His voice sounds pleading, and Brendan forces himself to look.

"This...business. Be careful, yeah?"

He nods, not truly a promise of anything, and leaves Walker and Steven in the hallway.

* * *

Warren's found by a screaming female officer. Turns out Walker played him a little visit since they left the library, and Brendan watches as he's carried out on a stretcher, his genitals covered up by a blanket, the thin material not managing to cover the word _rapist_ written with ink, splashed across his chest.

It's one of Walker's games: humiliation. He won't be happy if one of the nurses has to scrub the writing off. He wants Warren to be awake and see it, wants him to remove it himself, the ink spiralling down his skin, a reminder of what he's done.

Brendan can't smile, can't get any satisfaction from the act. There's nothing that makes this better.

When he knows that Warren's been disposed of, carted back to the hospital that he was removed from days earlier, he begins the search for Silas. He watches as Tony frantically scans the area, questioning the staff about how this could have happened, where the CCTV tapes are.

He hadn't bargained on the grandfather being able to twist and manipulate situations just as skillfully as Brendan can; the old man's killed some privileged, Oxford-bound women, and with education comes money. Some of his victims rings are worth enough to be effective at quietening and cajoling. The CCTV footage of Warren attacking Brendan and Steven will never be seen again, the jewellery lying securely in the officer's pockets.

Brendan wants to tear his skin off when he finds out that Silas has been taken in for questioning, the first and only suspect in Warren's attack. It'll be hours before he's released, and he _will_ be released - it's women he hurts, not men. There's no concrete evidence, and this isn't Silas's style.

They'll be too many people around now that the prison's on high alert, Tony worried about the chances of an attacker striking again. Brendan's lost his chance. Silas would have been the second person that he's killed.

He stands back as the library's cordoned off, only noticing after several minutes that Tony's calling his name.

"Are you okay, Brendan?"

There's concern there, and Brendan considers it for one uncertain moment, what it would be like to tell Tony the truth. To trust that the justice system could give Warren the punishment that he deserves if they knew what he'd done to Ethan and Steven, and countless other men. That he wouldn't merely be locked away for another ten years before being given a reduced sentence for good behaviour, his days spent intimidating and raping the men who aren't strong enough to fight back.

Brendan doesn't have that trust. The authorities never stopped Seamus.

"I'm fine."

Tony nods, seemingly appeased, touching Brendan on the shoulder before going to speak to the gathering officers.

Brendan spends the rest of the day inventing new ways of avoiding Steven.

* * *

Brendan doesn't come back. Ste grows more anxious, more impatient, glancing up every time he hears the sound of a door opening. He struggles to hide his disappointment and concern when it's not the right person - when it's Doug or Ethan checking up on him, instead of the one he wants.

Simon stays by his side, making Ste and Ethan stay in the room while he takes a piss in the bucket in the corner.

"Brendan said I couldn't be on my own with him."

He makes a poor show of someone who's not enjoying this.

Ethan mutters under his breath the entire time, "I don't think this is what Brendan meant," but Ste gets the feeling that it's helping him, being here with them. Having Walker to fight with is giving him something to do, something to take his mind off Warren.

They haven't talked about what happened. After Ste made a mumbled excuse over how he got injured - "I fell over" - he hasn't probed any further. All Ethan knows is that Warren's back in the hospital after an attack, and somethings made him fail to question them further - perhaps the knowledge that he knows that they're involved, that there's something _more_.

Ethan notices Ste quickly looking up as he hears footsteps approaching outside, looking down in resigned defeat when an officer walks past.

"I'm sure he'll be back soon."

"That's what he said four hours ago. You don't think..." Ste nibbles on his lip, feeling his heart lurch. "You don't think somethings happened to him?"

"Nothings happened to him," Walker interrupts, as though they're being faintly ridiculous. "Brendan's a big boy - pun intended. He can look after himself."

"Yeah, but -"

"Sweetheart, relax."

"That's easy for you to say," Ste fires back angrily. "You don't have your boyfriend on his own after his skull's nearly been smashed in. He could be unconscious somewhere."

"Honestly. That imagination of yours."

Ste rests back against the wall, scowling. He wants to break free from the room, but he knows that Walker's under strict instructions to watch him. He wishes that he'd break the rules like he always does. He wants to see the Walker of old, the one who had given him the moonshine and not cared about what havoc he caused.

The room's silent. It sounds empty without the familiar sound of Brendan's Johnny Cash CD filtering through. Ste misses it. It crept up on him slowly, the fondness that he has for it now.

"Your boyfriend?"

Ethan breaks the silence first, sounding amazed and uncertain what to do with the word, testing it out on his tongue.

"What?"

"You called Brendan your boyfriend."

"I didn't say that."

"Yes you did."

Ste stops, trying to remember. He's _sure_ that he didn't say that.

"I just meant that...I want him here." His voice breaks. _Pathetic_.

"I'm sure he'll come back any second now."

Simon says nothing. Ste wonders if he has that same conviction.

He repeats Ethan's words inside his head like a mantra, but he doesn't see Brendan again that night.

* * *

There's a draught in the room, and Ste pulls the covers up over his chin, still finding no relief. It's a permanent type of coldness - he's sure that even in the height of summer he would still experience a chill in his bones.

"Are you awake?"

He considers remaining silent, pretending to Doug that he's already fast asleep. But he hears the concern in his friend's voice, and he can't do it.

"Yes. I can't sleep."

"Me neither." There's a pause, and Ste can almost sense Doug trying to find the words. He hates that this is difficult now, that _he's_ difficult. "If you want to talk about what happened -"

"I sucked Warren's cock." He's tired of people tiptoeing around him, tired of trying to hide the truth.

Doug doesn't say anything for a moment.

"Oh."

Ste nearly laughs.

"I'm not expecting you to know what to say."

"No, I just...it's been happening to Ethan for years, but we've never really talked about it. I didn't know if he wanted to."

Ste looks up at the ceiling in the darkness, making out its curves and textures, the jagged edges from years of decay and use.

"I've got nothing to hide." He doesn't. Not anymore. "He made me deep throat him. Then he put me on my front. He was going to fuck me." His voice is calm.

"Ste, I can't...I can't imagine what that must have been like. I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"You know what I mean. And...it _is_ my fault. We should have had your back, me and Lynsey."

"I wandered off. I was asking for it really, wasn't I?"

Doug sits up in bed, shifting the covers off him. Ste continues to stare straight ahead.

"Don't ever say that. You didn't ask for any of this."

"I knew that Warren wanted to hurt Brendan though, didn't I? I knew that he might use me to get to him."

"And that means you deserved to be raped?" Doug asks, horror spiking through his voice. "This is because of Warren, not you."

"Maybe you think that, but...not everyone does."

"What do you mean?"

Ste balls the cover up in his hands, twisting it. "Doesn't matter."

"No, tell me. Has someone said something?"

"Don't be daft."

"Then what did you mean by that?"

Ste abandons any attempt to sleep, can tell that Doug's not going to let go of this, won't be distracted by a change of subject.

"Brendan doesn't seem to...want to touch me."

There's no _seem_ about it - Brendan doesn't want to touch him.

"What are you talking about?"

Ste tries to remain nonchalant. "Haven't you noticed? He could barely even look at me. He couldn't wait to get away."

"Is this because he left you with Walker? I'm sure he just had something to do -"

Ste scoffs, Doug's words sounding weak and insubstantial, not taking the edge off his doubts. Brendan had barely spoken two words to him, didn't even suggest that Ste spend the night in his cell.

"He doesn't want me now. I'm damaged goods." His voice sounds close to breaking, is impossibly small.

He hears Doug move from the bed, and blinks rapidly when the light is switched on. He brushes his eyes hastily with the back of his hand to catch any tears, but they're dry.

Doug sits at the foot of his bed, and Ste wonders if he's doing it to prove a point: _I_ want to be around you._ I _want to touch you.

"You know that I'm not exactly a member of the Brendan Brady fan club, but he cares about you. He wouldn't ever think that."

Ste's unwavering. "Course he would. He won't want to sleep with me now, will he? He hates Warren, and he's...he's been all over me."

"You really think that Brendan's feelings for you are that shallow?"

It scares Ste that he doesn't have an answer to that. It's only just occurred to him that perhaps they are.

"Maybe he'll start looking elsewhere again - maybe Kevin..."

His mind's attacking him with painful thoughts, and he can't stop them from infiltrating him. He knows how needy and insecure he must appear to Doug, but he's beyond that. There's nothing within him that can stop the incessant ebb of worry.

"If it was the other way round, would you stop wanting him?"

Ste avoids Doug's gaze, doesn't want him to read anything behind his eyes. "No, but -"

"Exactly. So why would Brendan?"

"The one time that I need you to hate him..."

Doug smiles, but it's a flicker, over too soon.

"You should talk to him. Tell him that you think this."

Ste draws his knees up to his chest. His wrists still ache, and he lays his cut lip against them, trying to soothe them with the soft, wet pressure.

"I can't." He's certain of that; Brendan wouldn't know what to say. "He's never told me, Doug. He's never told me that he loves me."

There's the obliged look of pity on Doug's face, and embarrassment that they're even discussing this.

"Brendan's not really the type. I don't think he ever said it to Vinnie either."

"I know, I just thought..." _I just thought that I might be different. _"I think about him. Always. He's always there, in my mind. I can't get him out. I didn't expect him to say it back, when I told him. I thought loving him was enough. But now...I didn't know how painful it could be. The person you love, not loving you back."

"I think he does love you, Ste. In his own twisted, fucked up Brendan way. I'm not saying it's right, or that I approve, but it's not up to me, is it? It's about what _you_ want."

"I want him to be free." Ste says, lying back against his pillow again, a wave of tiredness overcoming him. "I want him to get out of here. I want us to be together. I want him to look at me the way he used to, before Warren. It scares me, Doug. It scares me how much I love him."

"What do you mean?"

"Love's meant to be a good thing, isn't it? Like you and Lynsey - you're happy together. Maybe it's complicated, and it's not always perfect, but you're together. You _work_. It's...healthy. Normal. Me and Brendan aren't normal. He'd kill for me. And not just if my life was at risk, but over crazy, stupid things - if someone hurts me - Doug, he'd break someones arms if they even looked at me funny. And I...the lengths I'd go to for him. The things I'd do. If I could never see my kids again, I think I'd be okay - I think I'd survive, as long as I had him. That's not the way it's supposed to be. A father, a _person_ - that's not _right_. Amy would never forgive me if she knew. I hate myself for it, but the one thing I can't lose is him."


	35. Chapter 35

Brendan hears a frantic, persistent knock on the door the next morning, and his actions are immediate. He slings his sleep deprived body out of bed, quickly throwing on a t-shirt and rubbing his eyes when he anticipates who wants to speak to him at such an early hour, before the regular dose of caffeine at breakfast has awakened their frazzled minds. He imagines Steven standing before him, face lined with worry, something having happened in the night - another opportunity to help him, to save him, that Brendan's so cruelly missed again.

"Oh." He grunts, regretting the decision to leave the security and comparative warmth of his bed. "Didn't exactly expect to see you here."

Douglas hasn't even changed into his normal clothing. He's in his pajamas, striped and loose bottoms and overflowing top, looking like he's drowning within the material. He glances down at them, as though only just realising how he appears.

"You here to see your boy?" Brendan asks, gesturing over his shoulder to where Ethan lies. He'd finally fallen asleep at around four o'clock, tossing and turning until exhaustion had overtaken him. Brendan had considered starting a conversation, initiating contact, but the words had got stuck in his throat, lodged and too difficult to articulate. He wants to tell Ethan that he understands, that he knows the panic and the dread that are descending over him. But the boy will start asking questions, will be confused and curious, and Brendan can't risk him finding out, looking at him differently. It had been easier to pretend that he was asleep.

Douglas doesn't follow Brendan's gaze.

"Actually, I want to talk to you. Can we go somewhere before breakfast?"

"Where's Steven?"

"With Walker."

Brendan leans his hand against the door, fingers drumming into the wood. It's pleasure and pain: he's relieved that Steven has someone else watching over him now, someone strong and capable. But Brendan hates the fact that it's not him, that it's the person who he promised he would keep Steven away from.

He swallows down his bitterness, forcing himself to focus.

"You sure he's safe?"

Douglas nods, and Brendan sees no deceit there. The boy's many things, but he's not vindictive with his friends. He's loyal for life, and that's what has Brendan worried. He can't see Douglas ever loosening his hold on Steven.

"Give me a second," he mutters, closing the door and quickly getting dressed. He highly doubts that he can keep his reputation intact if the other men see him parading around the prison in his boxer shorts.

He feels better when he's in his standard uniform, his suit making Douglas appear even more boyish and fragile in comparison. The American keeps a noticeable distance between them, his arms close to his body, wrapped around himself. Brendan makes an effort to draw himself up to full height, Douglas trailing behind him.

They go into the games room, quiet at this time of morning, and take up the available seats by the pool table, the sound of the men playing drowning out their already hushed voices. Brendan waits for Douglas to speak; he senses a lecture of sorts coming on.

"I'm worried about Ste."

Brendan turns to him, attention no longer half hearted, all his senses tuning in.

"Has something happened?" His words spill out in a rush. Logically he knows that nothing catastrophic has happened over night - Douglas would have told him straight away, or risk being Brendan's new punching bag. But his brain isn't currently running on logic, or the realistic outcome. His mind's alive with concern.

"He told me what Warren did to him. The..." The boy stops, and Brendan registers the quivering of his lower lip. Douglas has always been nervous in his presence, but he's also been defiant; there's none of that now. He's scared.

"What?" Brendan presses, because he senses for once in his life that not knowing may be worse than knowing.

"He told me that he gave Warren a blow job."

It's not discomfort, Brendan realises. It's not the fact that he's talking about the act, not squeamishness on Douglas's part; it's the act itself. The brutality and the force that Warren used, which Douglas is aware of without having to have been in the room with them. Brendan feels a strange sense of solidarity, the fact that this boy, this boy who he's never liked, cares for Steven so much. It's another double edged sword; he doesn't want him to care, but he couldn't bear it if he didn't.

"Right," Brendan says, doesn't know what else _to_ say, Douglas's words opening up the locked memories which he'd promised he wouldn't dwell on, but which had kept him awake the entire night. Steven's lips are soft when kissing, and sulky when arguing, and responsive under his touch. They'd transformed into something else entirely when wrapped around Warren; they'd become instruments of the boy's own torture.

Brendan remembers that; looking at his own body and suddenly seeing it for the first time. The small jut of his Adam's apple, still not fully formed in its pre pubescent state. His arms, scrawny at that age, yet to be honed by regular trips to the gym. His legs, which were never capable enough of kicking his father away, of fending him off. He began to stop trying. He tried to look for what made him the one who'd been selected, why this was happening to him and not to Pete, not to Malachy or Francis or any of the other boys in school. He stared at himself for hours in the mirror, but he couldn't find anything.

He wonders if Steven's done the same. If he thinks about what he did to deserve coming to a place so devoid of hope, and meeting a man whose brought him nothing but chaos. Steven got sent here for something petty, stole a couple of things, made a few mistakes - he didn't ask for _this_. Didn't ask to share a cell with someone who's selfish, who couldn't resist seeing what he tasted like, what he felt like, couldn't stop himself from going that much further; kissing the boy, exploring him, licking along every inch, every morsel of skin, burying himself so deeply inside him that the voices in Brendan's head - the voices that tell him that he's his father's son, that he's made of the same depravity and inherent wrongness - those voices, they were subdued. Beaten down by the way that Steven makes him feel, miraculous and terrifying to the core.

"I can't...I can't talk about this."

He can see the surprise on Douglas's face, the alarm at the realisation that Brendan's losing his usual detachment so spectacularly. It's clawing away from him, his grip on who he is, who he's always been.

"I'm sorry."

Brendan's even more alarmed: an apology, from Douglas. He'd rather his contempt.

"I'm really worried about him. That's the only reason I'm...I wouldn't be talking about this - I wouldn't be reminding you if I didn't -"

"Why are you worried about him?" Brendan doesn't care about Douglas's reasons for being here - he can only think about Steven alone with Walker, needing him and wondering why he's not there, why he hasn't got the guts to be in the same room with him.

"He seems...fine."

Brendan frowns. "Fine? You're worried about Steven, because he seems fine?" He says it slowly, willing the boy to understand how his words don't match up, how none of this makes any sense.

"He talked about what happened like...like he doesn't care at all. Like it doesn't faze him. He's like a robot about the whole thing - I think he's in shock."

Brendan wants to ask what's so wrong about that - part of him thinks that numbness is better than pain. He doesn't want Steven to go through that.

"Maybe he's really okay."

"After what he went through back there?" Douglas asks skeptically. "Would you be okay, if it was you? You saw the way Ethan was when he first came here. He wasn't behaving like Ste."

"Everyone's different, Douglas. He doesn't have to have the same reaction."

The boy sighs, and Brendan knows he's not making this easy on him; nothing is ever easy with them. But there's persistence there, determination in his eyes, and Brendan doesn't think the concern's for noting. He considers the possibility that Steven's detached from what happened yesterday, and it scares him, the mere reality of it beginning to seep into his mind. The way the boy displays his emotions so openly is something that Brendan had recoiled from initially, but it's comforting now; when Steven tells him he loves him, he tries to believe that one day he might deserve it.

"Are you sure you don't want to tell Tony? Ste gets on well with him."

"We're not going to the authorities," Brendan insists harshly. It's not Tony's reaction that he's worried about - he's sure that he'd try to protect Steven, and make sure that Warren gets sent down for a lengthly sentence. It's everyone else he doesn't trust, everyone who gets to make the final call.

"I'm going to sort this out myself."

He can tell that Douglas knows the method he uses to sort things out; the American's face is clouded with disapproval and the desire to get him to change his mind.

Brendan stands up before he can speak, signalling the end of the conversation. Douglas reluctantly mirrors him.

"Don't tell Ste I talked to you about this. You know how he gets. I don't think he'd appreciate being talked about behind his back."

Brendan nods; he'd never considered bringing up their meeting. The fact that he's managed to have a relatively civil conversation with Douglas isn't something he particularly wants shared.

"You talking to me about this. That's..." Brendan looks up at the ceiling, muttering and barely audible at times as Douglas stares at him curiously. "Doing that for Steven..."

"Is this your long assed way of saying thank you?"

Brendan grunts in acknowledgement, and the boy laughs.

"It's two words, Brendan. It's not that hard to say. And neither is three."

Brendan frowns. "Sorry Douglas, but I don't love you."

The American gives him a look:_ you're unbelievable. _

"I hope you deserve him."

Brendan nods. "I don't, but I'm going to try to."

The honesty of his admission startles Douglas; he looks at Brendan as though he's just sprouted wings; black, tarred ones albeit, but wings nonetheless.

_Who are you, and what have you done with Brendan Brady?_

"One more thing," Douglas says, just when Brendan thinks the coast is clear, that this strange state of amicability is over.

"I knew there was a catch," Brendan says, sticking a piece of gum in his mouth, chewing roughly.

"No catch. Just a question."

"Shoot."

"Do you think Warren will hurt Ethan?"

Brendan doesn't answer straight away. He knows that his reply carries weight, that Douglas isn't ready to hear the deliverance of more bad news. Brendan sometimes doubts that the boy could have sold drugs to the girl he's done time for; there's none of that carelessness about him, no spark of danger or recklessness. When Steven first moved into Douglas's cell, Brendan knew that he could trust him, that Douglas would be the one to convince the boy to go to bed at a decent hour, that he would have attempted to prize the moonshine from Steven's grip.

But Douglas also knows when people are lying, and he doesn't take kindly to that.

"Yes."

The boy's face falls instantly.

"But I'm not going to let that happen."

He doesn't add it for Douglas's sake. He's not going to watch Ethan succumb to that brand of torture. Once he was just a prisoner, someone who Brendan could be distanced from, an ex copper, but now he's part of this - he's a person, and Brendan can't be the monster who doesn't listen to his cry for help, who lets the abuse continue.

"I swear to you." Brendan steps closer towards him, letting Douglas know how serious he is, letting him read it in his face. "I'm not going to let Warren ever hurt him again."

A smile flickers across Douglas's face: gratitude. He shines with it.

"Thank you."

* * *

"Do you want me to make you wet?"

Ste's eyebrows raise.

"You what?"

Walker grins, then points to the treadmill that he's currently running on.

"See," he says, now gesturing to his vest, damp with sweat. "Wet."

Ste curses under his breath. Walker's never been the most ingenious seducer, but this is low, even for him. Ste finds himself oddly relieved by the distraction though; it's nice, laughing again, even if it is in derision. He'd begun to forget what it felt like, to have his jaw anything but tightly locked, the tension in it making him physically ache.

They've been in the gym together for over half an hour. Ste had been surprised when Walker had suggested a change of location - he'd been sure that the man would try to convince him to stay in his cell, using the opportunity to bring up that God awful contract. They're surrounded by other prisoners here, and Walker can't try anything. But that doesn't mean that the constant innuendos have lessened.

"Leave it out."

"Aren't you at least a tiny bit tempted?" Walker asks, a quirk to his lips.

"To be with you?" No, not really."

The man laughs, the sound translating like a hum in his throat. "Not really is good enough for me."

"I was trying to be polite."

Walker increases the speed of the machine, starting to pant as his movements grow from relaxed to punishing, his brow creasing as his body colours from the exertion.

"If you want to talk, Ste - about what happened -"

"I don't." He's startled that Walker would bring it up - he'd relied on him not to have the sentimental nature that Doug possesses. He doesn't want to talk.

"Haven't you got any...you know..." Ste glances around, paranoid. It would be just like this place to not have a single camera around when he needs them, but to catch him now, when he wants this to be secretive, something that's just his. No one else involved, ruining it for him. He's sure that the cameras don't come with audio, and that no one will be able to hear him, but the chance that they can has him gesturing instead of speaking; it's like a game of charades, and he waits for Walker to determine his meaning.

The older man decreases the speed of the machine once more, and Ste doesn't like the way that he looks at him: he can see something like judgement there, mixed with concern, and Ste resents them both.

"You want moonshine?" He doesn't say it with the playfulness that he used the last time that Ste made this request, and Ste hates that he's making this difficult, that these questions need to be asked. That was the beauty of Walker. He didn't have morals, and Ste wants to tell him that this new version of him isn't working out for any of them.

"Can you get me some?" He tries to be commanding, but already senses that he's fighting a losing battle. He can't compete with the big boys.

"It's pretty nasty stuff. You never know what's in there."

Ste merely stares at him, entirely uninterested in this information. He doesn't want facts, doesn't want to be warned. He remembers the calm that had briefly overcome him when he'd been drunk on the cloudy liquid, tipping the contents down his mouth and registering the feeling of warmth that had replaced the hollow numbness, the pain wanting to fight its way out. He wants to feel like that again.

"I've got money, if that's what's worrying you." It's not much, but since he returned to cookery class he's saved enough to gain the odd privilege in here, and he can't think of a better way to spend it than in the art of forgetting.

"That's not what's worrying me. It's you."

"What?" Ste asks, feeling like his head's a muddled mess that's beyond repair, out of reach of it.

"I'm worried about you."

He waits for Walker to laugh, for there to be a sign that this is an attempt at a joke, but it doesn't come, and the panic begins to gnaw its way through, past the barriers. He'd seen the way Doug and Ethan had started at him, as if he's something fragile, breakable. Walker's another person to add to the list, and it's destroying Ste's belief that everything's under control, that he can make it so. Three against one, and the person who matters the most, who holds the key to all this, is nowhere to be found; he doesn't care.

"You always tell me that I'm being dramatic," Ste mutters.

"It's a simple observation."

"Who's being dramatic now then, eh?"

Walker knows what he's getting at, but he's not rising to the bait; there's still that hint of compassion, and it makes Ste uncomfortable. Weak.

"It's not dramatic to get upset about being raped."

Ste shrugs. "So what if I was? It's just sex, isn't it?"

Walker presses a button, and comes to a standstill on the treadmill. His expression is defiant, eyes steely. "Rape isn't sex."

"What is this, a kid's education show? Are you trying to teach me a lesson, is that it?"

"You seem pretty wise to me. Doesn't exactly seem like you're lacking in life experience."

Ste looks down, unable to know how to respond. He wonders if it's that obvious, that he's seen more than he should have, more than he ever wanted to.

"It's not going to work, you know. Bottling this all up."

"Fucking hell. Is this some kind of role play? Therapist Walker?"

"Why not?" Walker says, unperturbed. "You had the same idea for Brendan, didn't you?"

Ste stutters over his words. "Did he...what do you..." He's aware that this might be a trap, that like the abuse that Seamus inflicted, Walker may be taking a guess, seeing if his suspicions are correct.

"Brendan told me."

Ste stares coldly at him, unconvinced. Brendan would never tell him about Des; his pride's too important to him.

"Okay, so I found out."

Ste narrows his eyes, silently willing for Walker to continue.

"I followed him. It didn't take me long to put two and two together."

"Wow, that's completely normal, isn't it? Really sounds like you're turning a corner, stalking people."

"Your boyfriend used that word too."

"Because that's what it is!" He insists heatedly.

"The point is: I know. And we both know why Brendan's seeing Daz -"

"Des. His name's Des."

"Right, Des. It's because of his past. Because of what that...thing did to him."

Ste's surprised by Walker's tone, how affected he seems, like it hurts to get the words out.

"Why are you so bothered?" He can't help but ask, doesn't correlate with what he's seen so far, the way that Walker was willing to screw over Brendan seemingly without a moments thought.

Walker grabs the towel resting against the wall, using it to wipe himself off. There's no show to his movements, no attempt to put on a display and use it as a means of making Ste look, drawing his attention to him. When he makes eye contact again, his lids are turned down at the sides, his usual vigor gone, and there's a hint of nervousness that Ste's never seen before.

"Ste..."

Walker opens his mouth, searches Ste's eyes.

"It doesn't matter."

"No, come on." Ste's curiosity has been piqued now. It's not like Walker to look this serious. He doesn't _do_ serious.

"Let's get you back to Brendan."

* * *

Brendan rises from the bed when the door opens, moving closer to Steven. Walker's keeping his distance, is standing in the hallway, creating a space between him and Steven that Brendan doesn't know what to do with, doesn't know how to read it. It's been a constant, nagging thought: the two of them alone together, Brendan facilitating the whole thing. He doesn't know who he trusts less; Walker, with his wandering hands and penchant for scrawny, fiery boys, or Steven - having every reason to walk away, every reason to escape now that he's seen Brendan's cowardly nature first hand, knows that when it mattered the most, he was helpless.

"Everything okay?" Brendan asks, voice begging them to tell him that it is.

Steven nods, a slight movement of his lips, an attempt at a smile that doesn't provide Brendan with the answer he wants; there's something about it that he doesn't entirely believe.

"I've got to get back to Kevin, so..."

Brendan struggles not to roll his eyes at Walker's words.

"Even you could do better."

"I never said he was for keeps," Walker says with a wink. "Just a...distraction."

"Look, I appreciate you looking out for me, but if I have to hear about that...thing..." Steven says with distaste, accent thicker when he's like this; riled up, heat spreading through him. It's a thrill to see, and Brendan can't take his eyes off him.

Neither can Walker.

"Jealous, are we?" Walker asks, playful and delighted, and it's too much, too close to Brendan's already fractured insecurities.

"Get out of here."

Walker knows he's hit a nerve, doesn't push it, but it's already there, filtering through Brendan's mind. He doesn't deserve to ask the question, but he needs to know: do he and Steven still belong to each other, after everything that's happened? Or does he have no claim there now, nothing to stop other men from taking their chance? And they _will_ take it - there's no one on this earth who could not want Steven Hay.

Brendan makes sure that the door's closed when Walker's gone, trying to believe that if he shuts it hard enough then he can keep everything else out, the fear of losing.

He can't lose this man.

Steven doesn't meet his eyes. He leans his back against the wall, staring down at his trainers, playing with his hands in that nervous way of his that makes Brendan nervous too.

"How was Des?" He asks, quiet, voice muffled. He sounds afraid to speak.

"I didn't go." Immediately Brendan regrets the words, regrets not realising the impact of them. Steven looks at him in shock, and it turns into something harsher, makes Brendan look away, ashamed at the admission.

"Well that's great, isn't it?" Steven says, voice high and mocking. "You could lose your place there, you know - he took a chance, agreeing to see you everyday."

"I never asked you to -"

"You never would have, Brendan!" His cheeks have turned red, his tone vicious. "I was always going to have to drag you there kicking and screaming, wasn't I? You'd never change otherwise."

It takes the power out of Brendan's argument. His intention to fight back and make excuses dies on his lips. He registers that lack of faith, the knowledge that Steven regards him as a broken toy; not working properly, something you want to push away, replace with a newer model, one that works right. That isn't damaged.

"I'm...I'm sorry." It's all he can manage, doesn't know whether Steven will ever understand how much he means it, not just for this but for everything; he wrecked the boy's life from the moment that he entered it, and he's not sure that Steven even knows it yet.

Steven's anger isn't abating. He shakes his head, discarding Brendan's words. "That's you giving up then, is it? On therapy, Des - the whole thing?"

"No," Brendan says, trying to install conviction into his voice. He can't help but think that Steven sees this as a rejection of him, a giving up on him. "I'll go tomorrow, I promise." He's made a thousand promises that he can't keep before, but fuck, he means this one. "I'll apologise...explain."

"And what are you going to tell him? That you just couldn't be bothered?"

"It's not that," Brendan insists, needs him to understand. "What was I...how could I sit in that room, and pretend that everything was normal after...after you were..."

Steven stares at him coldly. "After I was what? After I sucked Warren's cock? Come on Brendan, you've never been shy about these things before. Why start now?"

"I know what you're doing." Brendan's voice is cracked, but there's an absence of shame. He thinks Steven would let him cry, if it came to it. He doesn't think the boy would turn him away. And here, with everyone at lunch, there's a quietness about the place, a darkness; it could just be them, in another world.

"Tell me then, Doctor Brady," Steven says with a sneer. Brendan sees it then, gets a glimpse of what the boy must have been like with Amy, when the girl was an outlet for his anger. He's a slip of a thing, Steven, but there's a fire inside him that gives him the ability to wound.

"You're doing what I did. What I'm still doing."

It knocks some of the determination out of him, exposes Steven for what he is: afraid. His eyes are shining, tears so close to the surface that Brendan thinks it wouldn't take much, that the boy's close to sinking to the floor, falling like he's in quicksand.

Brendan's not going to let him. He doesn't like his cold state, can't let it become permanent, but he knows that if Steven lets himself feel everything that's brimming to the surface, then he may not ever be able to switch it back off.

Brendan dares to risk moving closer. It feels vulnerable, dangerous, and he can feel Steven triggering, taking a step back out of safety. He's still in the library. Stepping outside the door didn't mean anything.

"This isn't you," Brendan whispers. "You care."

"It's not the end of the world."

Brendan huffs a laugh of disbelief, sorrow lacing it.

"This is what I did too. Tried to block it out, pretend that it was nothing, that I had control over it."

"That's different. You were...that was rape. It was your _dad_." Steven breaks around the words, looks like they're torn from him, agonising like a shard of glass ripping through him.

"What happened to you - it _was_ rape. He raped you." He's spelling out the obvious, but he needs to say it, needs to let Steven know that it isn't his fault, isn't something he did or said. It's _him_. Steven got hurt because of him. Became a target because Warren knows his weak spots, and Steven's become the weakest of all.

"Don't become what I did, Steven. Don't become a bastard. Don't shut me out."

"You're not a bastard," Steven says, so quietly that Brendan thinks he doesn't want him to hear, wants to hold onto his anger for a little while longer.

"Yes I am." He knows he is.

Steven looks at him then, stops the fleeting eye contact and properly _looks_. Brendan hopes the boy sees it in his expression, how he would do anything for him.

"Well I love this bastard." Steven sounds half embarrassed to be saying it, to be giving in, watches as Brendan lips spread around a smile as he wonders what the fuck he did to deserve this.

"I'm sorry for disappearing yesterday." It's only when he says it that he realises how mind numbingly stupid it was. He's been a dick in his time, but he hasn't always wanted to take it back like he does now.

The defenses are back, and some of the warmth goes from Steven's face.

"Where did you go?"

"The gym. The games room. My cell. Called Cheryl."

"So basically everything but come and see me?"

"Yes," Brendan admits, doesn't want to insult Steven any further by lying to him.

"Is it because..." The boy stops, starts again but he's mumbling, stuttering over his words.

"What?"

Steven sighs, sweat beading against his forehead. "Did you not want to...touch me?"

Brendan stares at him open mouthed, fighting to know how to convince Steven that that was never, ever the case. Never could be.

"I would never not want to - don't even think that."

A small spark of relief floods through Steven's face, but it's not enough, doesn't make the fear lessen.

"I thought you were...disgusted by me."

Brendan feels a rush of pain, is propelled forwards and Steven doesn't retreat, doesn't run away when he anchors his face closer with his hands, pressing his lips against Steven's softly, ghosting together at first, teasing and testing and seeing if this is okay, if this is within the limits that Steven can take. His lip must still be sore from where Warren split it open.

The boy feels tense in his arms, his mouth closed as he adjusts to the feel of it again. It feels like a long time since they've done this, before Warren robbed them of the enjoyment, of the touch and taste and the feel of a kiss, and the promise of what it could lead to.

Brendan isn't thinking of that now, has no inclination to try anything beyond this. He handles Steven as if he's delicate, fingers gliding down his sides and lips tender, tongues yet to make contact. Steven doesn't like that, drags Brendan closer by the collar of his shirt, an aggression to his actions that makes Brendan gasp, part arousal and part surprise. They were arguing a moment ago, and now this.

He feels it then, the warm press of Steven's tongue, the boy's hands roughly smoothing down Brendan's cheeks, trying to coax him into opening his mouth further, letting him in. He gives Steven what he wants, their tongues rubbing together, mimicking what Steven can do to his cock, that warm suction and heat.

Brendan moans into his mouth, doesn't know how to stop this. Something seems delicate about it; _Steven_ seems delicate, but he's kissing Brendan like he's never desired anything more, like he needs this to survive, and Brendan's ability to say no to him is disappearing like ashes in the air.

"I want you -" Steven's pawing at Brendan's trousers, is battling to get his buckle open, the buttons of his shirt proving just as difficult for his desperate, fumbling hands.

"I want you too." He does, he does want him, but this is moving too fast. He hasn't even had the chance to talk to him about what happened in the library, feels important that they don't bury it. It had been Steven who'd told him that you need to face your demons. This isn't facing them, and Brendan knows what it's like to replace the chaos in your mind with sex; he wrote the fucking book on it.

"Steven -" His words are being drowned out by Steven's mouth against his, and the feel of the boy's hand gripping his cock now that it's free from the confines of his trousers. "Please, I need to -"

"Not now." Steven's insistent, skin blushed ruby red, erection a clear outline in his tracksuit bottoms. He's burning up for him, trying to drag him back onto the bed, pulling off his own clothes when Brendan falls against the mattress, landing with a heavy thud. It surprises him, the strength of the boy, the sudden onset of aggression in him. It usually excites him, but Brendan's stomach twists, dick softening as unease spreads through him.

Without a jumper to cover them, Brendan can see the redness of Steven's wrists from the binds. They haven't faded; he knows that it's naive to expect them to within a day, but he needs the physical evidence to be gone. It's a constant reminder. He can look at his own scars and see nothing, but Steven's are different - his pain is different.

Brendan tries to concentrate, tries to give Steven what he wants.

The boy climbs on top of him, assured and with a confidence that would ordinarily have Brendan needing to fuck him, forgoing further foreplay. Brendan hisses, crying out when Steven takes his nipple in between his lips, biting and sucking and coiling his tongue around it, wetting it so thoroughly that Brendan feels himself getting harder, his cock straining against his stomach and his balls heavy. He throws his head back against the wall, exposing his neck to Steven's hands, shivering as the boy strokes down it.

"Come here"

He's powerless to the sound of Steven's voice, opening his eyes and being flooded by blue, Steven staring at him as his lips go lower, kissing down his chest.

"You sure that -"

Steven silences him, takes Brendan's cock in his mouth when he's not prepared, tongue running along the underside.

"You like that?" He hums when he draws up for air, lips spit slicked, shining.

"Yes," Brendan groans, body shaking when Steven takes him down again, hands toying with his balls while he uses his tongue skillfully, licking in the way that makes Brendan crazy, arching his back and digging his nails into Steven's neck, noises released from him against his will.

He's going to come soon, too soon, too much pent up tension and longing, wants to shoot down Steven's throat and feel his inner muscles rippling, pull the boy closer and taste himself in his mouth.

He gently pulls his dick out of Steven's mouth, taking it in his hand and giving it a few quick strokes, keeping it hard while he maneuvers Steven onto his back, nibbling the tattoo on his hip, making his own mark there.

"Gonna make you come," he promises, needs to make Steven feel pleasure more than he ever has. "First down my throat." He kisses against Steven's jaw, feels the heat there, warm like the sun. "Then over my hand." He moves to the boy's fingers, takes two in his mouth and sucks, slurping and obscene with it. "Then against your stomach." He crawls down Steven's body, licking against his belly button, dipping his tongue into the curve, the boy giggling at first before groaning deeply when Brendan takes his cock in his palm, easing his fingers over its tip, brushing back the foreskin.

He shuffles forward, getting himself at a more accessible angle, leaning against his elbows as he opens his mouth, guiding Steven's dick closer, getting ready to feel the smoothness of the head against his gums -

"Put a condom on it."

Brendan stills, hand still holding Steven's cock, mouth agape now.

"What?"

Steven reaches over to the bedside table, riffling through the drawers until he finds a condom, taking it out and offering it to Brendan.

"Please, just use it." The boy's voice is pleading, child like.

"Why?" They've never used a condom for oral before. It's not that he minds - he wants to taste Steven, not latex - but he'd do it, if it's what Steven wants.

Steven doesn't look like he knows what he wants.

"Just...please. Warren...Warren touched me there. I don't want you to..."

His face creases, Steven fighting to keep control, but he can't stop the single tear from falling, making a path down his cheek. It's a catalyst for more to follow, and the boy's eyes swim with them, skin red and blotchy, the previous desire that was there being replaced by something else.

Brendan had expected this, but it doesn't make it any easier to see.

"Hey. Shhhh, shhhh." He brings the cover up and wraps it around them both, taking Steven into his arms, pulling him against his chest. The boy keeps his distance at first, his touch sparing and light, but as Brendan kisses against his hair he melts into the feel of his hands against his own.

"I'm sorry."

"Never, ever say that. I mean it. You did nothing wrong."

He can feel the dampness of Steven's tears, and holds him more securely.

"I'm gonna kill him for you, Steven. I'm gonna kill him."

* * *

"He said I liked it."

Steven shifts beside him, leaning on his elbows to look at Brendan.

"What?"

"Seamus. He said it once. Said that I liked...having that done to me."

Brendan's never seen someone look so upset. It's so powerful that it makes him want to take his words back, wishes that they'd stayed as they were, lying on the bed together, touching but not speaking. He can't hurt anyone that way.

"You were eight years old. He was your dad. Of course you didn't..." Steven looks sick.

"I didn't want to tell you. I didn't want you to...know me."

"Did you think I would judge you?" Steven asks slowly, as though the words sting.

"I thought you would think it was my fault," Brendan admits, can't look at Steven, knows he wouldn't be able to say any of this if he did.

"Would you blame a child? If they got raped, would you think it was their fault? That it was something they did?"

"Of course not."

"Then why would you think it was yours? It was Seamus's job to protect you, Bren. He was meant to look after you, meant to... I don't know - take you to the park, and teach you how to ride a bike - be a role model. There was something wrong with him. There was nothing wrong with you."

Brendan tries to listen to the words, tries to let them wash through him, feel the truth of them.

He can't convince himself that he didn't deserve it.

"He said that it was me. That I caused him to..."

Steven sits up properly, forcing Brendan to look at him.

"You're the best man I've ever known. The strongest. The bravest. You had nothing, Brendan - you had a sister who never knew, and a family who didn't think to see. You had a dad who let you down when he was meant to save you from people like him. But you're still here - you're still trying, and you can love, can't you? You love Cheryl."

"That's what Desmond said."

"He's right. Do you know how amazing that is? To have survived all that, and still be the man you are?"

"I'm a killer, Steven."

"Seamus abused you for years - he deserved it."

"Steven -" He doesn't want the boy to make excuses for him.

"No, listen. He deserved it, okay?"

"And what about everyone else that I hurt? Do they all deserve it too? I nearly choked Douglas yesterday. I wanted to kill Kevin."

Steven shakes his head; he doesn't approve, but there's no disgust there. No outright rejection.

"All I know is - you gave me strength in that library."

Relief spreads through Brendan. They're finally talking about it. Steven isn't numb anymore.

"I didn't do anything," he says, full of shame.

"You just being there gave me hope. Yeah, Walker saved us - but it's you, Brendan. It's you who I'm always going to remember."

Brendan sighs, emotion pouring out of him. He can't go back to what he used to do, who he used to be: the man who would have laughed at this version of himself, would have thought him to be everything he hated.

He thinks he could like this Brendan, if he let himself.

"Meeting you was the best and worst thing that ever happened to me."

Steven laughs. "Wow, thanks."

"You know what I mean," Brendan says, wills him to understand.

"Yeah," Steven says, quieter now, thoughtful. "Yeah, I do."

"The making and ruining of us both."

"No need to be so dramatic about it."

Brendan smiles. "Shut up. I'm trying to..."

"Sorry. Is this you trying to make a big romantic speech here?" Steven asks, warmth and fondness to his teasing.

"Maybe it is," Brendan concedes, because God, he needs to get something right for once in his life. And he wants it to be this. Right now.

"Don't talk, okay? Just let me get this out."

"Okay."

Brendan begins.

"Before I met you, my life was...black. I had no hope, Steven. I pushed my kids away until they didn't want to know anymore. I lied to Cheryl so much that she began to trust me, began to think that I could really be innocent. I went along with her perfect vision of our dad, made it so she'd believe me even less if I ever told her what he did. I let Vincent down when he needed me. I slept with people that I hurt, people that cared about me, that were good, you know? I broke them. I thought that this was going to be the rest of my life - being alone, going over and over what Seamus did to me. It never leaves me. I'm always waiting for people to leave me, to find out what I did when I was eight. To blame me. My mum...she used to always say: under the shelter of each other, people survive."

Brendan smiles, soft and sad.

"I never knew what she meant by that - shelter. Having someone to depend on. Lean on. Open up with."

He turns to Steven, eyes shining.

"Until you. Then I knew what it was, to be happy. I'd never felt that before. You saved me. More than I could ever save you. I love you, Steven."


	36. Chapter 36

"I love you, Steven."

"You..." Ste stumbles over his words. He can feel the accelerating rhythm of his heart banging against his ribcage. He imagines that this is exactly what people mean when they talk about flight or fight - except he isn't going to fight against these three words and everything they mean. And he sure as hell isn't going to run away.

"Say that again."

Brendan nibbles on his bottom lip, a nervous gesture that Ste finds endearing. It's not often that he gets to see Brendan nervous.

"It was hard enough the first time."

"Why, because you don't mean it?"

"Because I do," Brendan says quietly. "I'm not used to saying that to a person that I'm...with. I've never wanted to, before now. I've never felt..." Brendan narrows his eyes at him. "You're loving this, aren't you? Me squirming?"

"Aw, there's that word again - love," Ste teases. He's not sure this is even beginning to sink in yet. Brendan _loves_ him. Is _in love_ with him. Everything that Ste's been feeling - the overwhelming connection, the need to have Brendan close, the future that he so desperately wants - Brendan's been feeling that too.

"How long have you loved me?" The prospect of his answer makes him giddy, but it makes Brendan turn pale.

"Come on, don't make me -"

"Are we talking days or -"

"Of course not," Brendan allows, staring down at his hands before making a conscious effort to look at Ste, as though needing him to understand that he means this. Every word. "I've loved you for...a long time."

Ste can't speak; just listens and watches, retaining it all to memory.

"I can't tell you a moment, or a conversation. I just...I love you, Steven." Brendan smiles, relief flooding through him, like this is already getting easier. "There - you satisfied?"

_He_ looks satisfied. Looks happy.

Ste surges forward on the bed, pressing his lips to Brendan's before the older man has a chance to react. After the initial surprise, Ste feels the pressure of Brendan's mouth on his, responding. But it's not enough; this is something that requires words, and he breaks from the kiss to settle his lips against Brendan's neck, his breathing coming in gasps, sheer exhilaration spreading through his body.

"I love you too." It's what was missing, he realises. Brendan knows how he feels, but Ste can sense the Irishman's muscles growing slack, tension leaving him. He can hardly believe that after all they've been through Brendan is still capable of being insecure, of doubting that Ste's feelings aren't going to disappear.

He says it again. It sounds powerful, something that connects them now that Ste's not faced with silence, or a change of subject, or_ I do care about you Steven, I really do_, a 'but' silently added on.

"I love you so much." He wonders if his words do it justice; they can only stretch so far.

Brendan's eyes are warm. He reaches for Ste's hand over the cover, placing his own on top of it. Ste almost flinches from the shock of it; it's still a novelty, Brendan holding his hand. He looks faintly embarrassed to be doing it, but he's not taking it away.

Ste squeezes it gently, to show he understands.

"I want to...do something for you. For us." He slowly moves his free hand towards Brendan's trousers, reaching for the zipper.

Brendan takes his hand away like he's been electrocuted by the touch.

"Jesus, Steven." His eyes are wide. "That's not why I...do you think that's why I told you? So I could get an easy fuck out of it?"

"No!" Ste feels panic starting to grip him, can see the anger heating up in Brendan's eyes. He can't allow this to turn sour, not after finally getting something that he's wanted for so long.

"Of course not! You would have said it months ago if you just wanted that, wouldn't you?"

"Is that the kind of person you think I am?"

Ste wipes his hand across his forehead, can feel the perspiration breaking out there. This is escalating, and he doesn't know how to get it back to the way it was mere seconds ago.

"Do you think this is some kind of fucked up attempt to sleep with you after what Warren..." Brendan hesitates, and Ste pictures him counting to twenty in his head, trying to calm down. He doesn't think he'll ever be able to erase the image of Brendan in that library, his face contorted like a wild animal in pain, his hands desperately trying to he released from the binds to no avail.

He was mistaken when he thought that it would only be him who'd have to deal with the fallout from what Warren did. Brendan's been right there with him the entire time. He believed the man's absence and coldness to be indifference; he sees it for what it is now.

"I'd never do that to you, Steven. Never."

"I know you wouldn't," he insists, cutting through, unable to bear Brendan believing it any longer. "I just meant - this was meant to be our time, wasn't it? I used to dream about this in my head, plan it - what it would be like, for you to say those words." He admits it quietly, a part of him expecting Brendan to laugh, but he doesn't make a single sound. "We were meant to go to bed together. It wasn't...it wasn't meant to be like this."

Ste touches his wrists where the red marks lie. He can still taste Warren on his mouth, against his gums, his cock hitting the back of his throat. Having his lips wrapped around Brendan hasn't got rid of the lingering residue.

"Look at me."

"No." He whispers it.

"Are you...scared of me?" Brendan sounds pained by the thought.

Ste meets his eyes. "I've ruined it, haven't I?"

"You haven't ruined anything. I'm not angry at you Steven, I'm just..." He rubs his eyes tiredly, and Ste can see that he's had the same restless night as he has. Funny, when just this morning he had been imagining Brendan lying soundly in bed, peaceful. He feels like an idiot. _Of course_ he won't have been peaceful; _of course_ he cares.

"I should of been there. Instead of Walker. I should have been the one to..."

"It's not a competition." He used to fantasise about what it would be like to have people fighting over him, wanting his love. It was childishness driving the desire: he wanted to know how it would feel, to be that important. To not be the object of ridicule, to not clear up empty beer bottles and draw the blankets over Pauline on the sofa, his mother not stirring or feeling how delicate he was being, the care he was taking.

The glamour's gone. He's glimpsed the reality, the games and the lengths that someone can go to to secure him, feeling like a rag doll being stretched and grabbed and torn into.

"I know," Brendan says quietly. "But he didn't have to watch you, didn't have to see Warren... It should have been me." He repeats it, sounds like a hollow chant which is being torn from his lips. "It should have been me."

"What was it like, the first time you slept with someone else? After what your dad..."

Brendan stares across at him, the shock evident on his face. "Where did that come from?"

"Sorry." He immediately feels like he's crossed an invisible barrier, that he's exposed something that Brendan's never told anyone. "Forget it."

They're silent, and Ste thinks Brendan will change the subject, that it'll be something never spoken between them.

His heart begins to beat rapidly when Brendan begins talking, reluctantly but with a confidence that leaves Ste in awe; this man is unrecognisable to the person he met all those months ago. The defensiveness is gone. There's an openness there that Ste's sure he doesn't allow to show with anyone else.

"You've got to understand, Steven. I was...you wouldn't have liked the person I was back then."

"You think you would have liked the person I was? Some stupid kid on a council estate pretending to be a thug?"

"You ever break a guy's nose when you still had your cock in him?"

Ste visibly baulks, and his attempt to disguise it is poor. Brendan almost smiles at the attempt. There's twisted satisfaction there, and Ste wonders if a part of him wants this, the rejection. If he's been waiting for it for all these months, for Ste to see everything that's been hidden from him, the darkest recesses.

Ste swallows down his discomfort, and fights to sound blasé.

"You did that?"

"Had him bleeding all over my fist when I pulled out of him." Brendan looks away, at a blank spot on the wall that he focuses on, his voice detached. "I left him in the alleyway. Anything could have happened to him. He could have been mugged, could have been killed." He looks at Ste, his face as hard and cold as marble. "Do you still love me?"

"Yes," Ste answers without hesitation. "I still love you."

"Why?" Brendan asks, voice breaking and mask slipping until it's crumbled completely.

"Because I understand." Ste wills him to understand too, to know why he's still here. Why when he leaves prison, it doesn't mean he's leaving him. "Did you...was he okay, the guy?"

Brendan shrugs, shoulders heavy with tension. "I don't know. I never saw him again. I get it, you know. If you don't want to...be with me."

Ste shakes his head, eyes wide and frantic. "I'm not going anywhere. Whatever you've done - I'm never going to feel any differently about you."

"I'm never going to feel any differently about you, I promise you, okay?" Brendan looks like he's desperate for Ste to believe him, puts his hand over Ste's on the mattress, squeezing gently before smoothing it away slowly, leaving Ste with the memory of its warmth.

"Let me do something for you, Steven."

"Like what?"

Brendan's silent for a moment, and Ste can see him deliberating, staring up at Ste from under his lashes. From the angle that they're sitting on the bed, Ste can see the near identical red marks on Brendan's wrists.

He wasn't the only one hurt that day.

"When Seamus used to...I used to have a bath."

Ste closes his eyes for a moment; he can't easily control his reactions when Brendan mentions his father. He feels a protectiveness that he's never known, hasn't even felt like this with his own children. If Seamus wasn't already dead, he'll kill him himself.

"It's cliched, isn't it?" Brendan continues hollowly. "Washing yourself after...it's cliched..."

"Sometimes it's a cliche because it's true." He fights to keep the images from his mind; eight year old Brendan, locking himself in the bathroom away from his parents and sister, scrubbing himself clean, blood swirling down the plughole.

"What did you used to do?" He senses that Brendan needs to tell him. He's never been able to talk about this with anyone, never thought he'd be believed. This is his chance.

"I cleaned my teeth first," Brendan says, voice almost mechanical from trying so hard to get this out. "Brushed so hard that my gums began to bleed."

Ste can imagine it all too vividly, feels as if he's the one living it.

Brendan meets his gaze, knees huddled up to his chest in a position that reminds Ste of the child that he once was.

"Do you feel like you can't be clean ever again?"

Ste nods immediately; it's been growing stronger since he left the library. He can still taste Warren, can still feel him surrounding him, on top of him and trying to be inside him. Nothing's erasing that feeling.

"I can make you feel...better."

Ste wants it, doesn't have an ounce of hesitation as he takes the hand that Brendan offers him, clasping it and allowing himself to be pulled from the bed and its security. It's cold, hard floors that he fears, not the safety of here - Brendan's cell. _Brendan_.

Brendan slings an arm around him, and doesn't remove it even when they're outside the confines of the cell, a towel placed over his shoulder. They pass other prisoners in the hallway, and Ste knows how it must look; two men, as openly together as they are. He catches a few glances thrown his way, unmistakably judgmental and disgusted.

He ignores it. With Brendan beside him, the importance of everyone else is numbed.

They reach the bathroom, and Brendan makes a show of letting Ste know that the door's closed behind them. Ste hates that Brendan knows exactly what to do; he'd rather he was clueless in the situation, searching desperately for things to say and a correct way to act. He's only too aware of why Brendan's handling him so expertly, why he's making him feel so at ease. He knows more than he should, more than anyone should about what's happened. He's been there, and it makes Ste ache for the lifetime he's spent trying to come to terms with it.

Ste grapples with the shower head. He wishes he could have a bath, desires nothing more than to emerge his face under the steaming hot water, engulfed in heat, everything else becoming a mere echo.

This place doesn't afford him the luxury.

"Hey." Brendan takes the shower head from Ste's grip when he struggles in desperation, frantic to get the water over him to wash away the dirt.

Ste leans back against the tiles, only realising as he does so that he hasn't even undressed yet.

"Sorry." He's not sure who he's apologising to, what he's apologising for.

"Do you want some help?" Brendan gestures to his clothes.

Ste's about to refuse; he's capable of removing his own clothes. What Warren did to him hasn't left him useless and deficient.

But he feels so exhausted that it's an effort to remain upright. And Brendan's looking at him like he wants to help, like he _needs_ to.

They begin by pulling Ste's t-shirt up from over his head, exposing his torso. The marks that Brendan's left on him over recent weeks make the Irishman wince. Ste lays a hand over his face.

"I wanted you to."

He doesn't want Brendan to put him in a box, _victim of abuse_. He chooses the marks on his skin, and he chose these.

Brendan holds out a hand, and Ste guides it to the lightly coloured bruise lying close to his stomach, imprinted when he'd rode Brendan, the older man's fingertips digging into his flesh. He smooths it down with his thumb until it no longer hurts.

"Can I..." Brendan touches Ste's jogging bottoms fleetingly, and Ste nods, gulping down the fear that's an instinct now, telling him that no one can touch him there, not again.

Brendan goes slowly, gradually revealing more skin. He stills when Ste sucks in a breath when his trousers are bundled around his knees; it feels like too much is on display, and he hates himself for thinking it, for Warren taking something from him, reducing him to this mess of a man.

"We can stop if you want."

"No. I have to do this."

"You don't have to do anything, Steven."

"I never thought the day would come when you didn't want to see me naked," he jokes, sounding strained and forced.

Brendan doesn't laugh, just waits for Ste to give him an instruction, to tell him if he can continue. He remembers the niggling thoughts in his first few days in prison, when he considered the possibility of Brendan forcing himself on him, of violating him. It's like something from a different world, not correlating with the gentleness of the man standing before him.

If he can do this with anyone, he can do it with Brendan.

"You can take them off."

After Brendan's ascertained that he's ready, he removes the rest of Ste's trousers and places them to the side, close to them both, and Ste knows that it's in case he changes his mind.

He still hasn't decided if he's at risk of that happening.

"My boxers too," he releases on a shaky breath.

"We don't have to rush this."

"I know. But...I trust you. I can't...I don't think I can do it myself. I know that sounds stupid, but..."

"It's not stupid," Brendan interrupts, and Ste sees it then, so clearly that it's dazzling: he sees that Brendan loves him. It's everywhere, in everything he's doing. It's more powerful than words, and Ste's only just beginning to realise that.

When his underwear's been removed, Brendan's eyes roam over his body. Ste's never felt so naked in his life, is shivering from being this exposed, feeling this vulnerable. The bravado has gone, and he can't believe that he was sucking Brendan's cock a couple of hours ago, wanting to tear his clothes from him and feel Brendan pushing into him, that delicious fullness stretching and burning.

In one fluid motion, Brendan removes his shirt.

"What are you doing?" Ste asks, suddenly fearful.

"Making it easier for you." He begins unbuttoning his jeans, rolling them down his legs along with his boxers. Everything's on display, his cock hanging between his legs and the contours of his arse perfectly sculptured as he turns on the water. He's not touching Ste, but he's close enough to him that he could lean forward and be able to run his tongue along Brendan's moustache.

The water's cold at first. It's always too cold here, and Ste wonders whether it's on purpose, a reminder that for all their televisions and game consoles and pool tables, they don't deserve privileges.

He shudders, his skin breaking out in goosebumps. Brendan senses it, running his warm hands down Ste's back, replacing the chill with his heat until Ste's body begins to grow slack, some of the tension leaving him.

He leans against the tills, aware of Brendan repositioning the shower head so that it's above Ste, the water falling down him.

"Close your eyes." Brendan's voice lulls his lids shut, its sound soothing and breaking through the pounding in his head and the tears threatening to fall. He wonders if it would be noticeable if he were to cry, or whether it would mix with the water and wash away.

He squeezes his eyes to stop it.

"Sit down. It'll be easier."

Something about Brendan's voice makes him follow the instruction. Ste slides down the tiles and sits down in the cramped shower, and he's right, it is easier. He can let go like this, unaware of anything other than the water cleansing him. He takes the soap from Brendan's hand when he offers it, beginning to swirl it over his skin in circular motions.

It's tempting to be overzealous and to try and scrub away the very heart of him; the dark, filthy core that Warren invaded. But under Brendan's gaze he takes it slowly, soaping his entire body until he starts to believe that the only fingerprints that are on him are Brendan's and his own.

Brendan crouches down to wash him free of the soap, and Ste leans his chin against his arm, feeling something like safety surrounding him.

* * *

Ste wakes regretting his decision to spend the night in his own cell. He wants Brendan's arms around him, nearly cries out with the loss of not having him there. He opens his eyes and looks at Doug across the room from him; he's holding onto his pillow, and Ste wonders if he wants Lynsey beside him, if they're both missing someone and don't know how to fill the void.

He dresses quietly so as not to disturb Doug. The marks from the ties still show up on his skin, red and a constant reminder of what's happened. He'll be grateful the day that they begin to fade, needs the experience to become a distant memory. He stares down at the skin there, softly stroking a single finger across the area. He tries to remember the way that Brendan had kissed him there, tries to recall the look on the older man's face. Brendan hadn't been afraid, hadn't been repulsed. He _loves_ him.

Ste has time to kill, twenty minutes before he has a meeting with his lawyer. They have weekly appointments, but it had been something that Ste had dreaded during his first few weeks inside; he would be fed the same information, the same facts. He had three months to serve, and he had hated being reminded of it in the beginning, the time stretching before him and seeming impossibly long.

He hadn't been able to afford a lawyer of his choice, so he'd been assigned one: Jim McGinn. Ste had immediately been unimpressed. Jim had appeared disheveled during their first exchange, a mustard stain on his shirt and his hair greasy and sticking up erratically. He'd dropped all of his files before hurriedly scrambling for them, joining Ste at the table.

His words had carried more weight. There was intelligence underneath the exterior, and he used long, convoluted words that Ste struggled to understand, forcing him to nod along, too embarrassed to ask for clarification.

Most importantly, Jim smiled at him. A smile was a rare thing in this place, and Ste savoured it in the early days more than he wanted to admit. When he had nothing - frosty exchanges with Amy, no visits from the kids, and a cellmate who was a murderer and who Ste was sure wanted to kill him - he had Jim. Jim was the one shining, bumbling light, and despite the deliverance of bad news every week, Ste never cancelled their appointments, never faked illness like some of the other prisoners, reluctant to hear that their appeal had been rejected.

Ste doesn't know why he feels nervous, why his recent meetings with Jim have felt different, uncomfortable. He's walked into the room with his stomach churning, not being able to settle into a position that doesn't make his entire body feel tense.

He wastes the time he has to kill pacing up and down the hallways. The library's within walking distance, and the police tape that had initially cordoned off the area is gone; it's no longer being treated like a crime scene. He could walk in there now if he wanted to, could find that same room where he was held down by Warren.

He can't decide if he's masochistic enough to go back there.

When he enters the room where his meetings with Jim always take place, he declines the man's hand held out to him, leaving Jim staring at him in confusion. Ste's never been the type to shake hands, but he's never refused it before. He hides his wrists under his jacket sleeve, making sure that Jim doesn't see the raw, angry marks.

The earliness of their meetings has always left Jim grumbling about needing a coffee, the circles under his eyes particularly prominent. Ste waits for him to start on the same vein, already ready with his sympathetic reply.

Jim's smiling, a beaming grin that shows his teeth.

"What?" Ste asks, feeling his anxiety spike and ripple through his body. He's seen Jim frustrated and angry and apologetic; he's never seen him happy, _this_ happy.

"You're getting out, Ste."

Ste forgets about hiding his wrists. He puts his hands on the table, needing something to steady himself. His throat is locked; he can't say anything.

Jim reaches into his bag, showing Ste paperwork that he can't take in, can't understand. He's aware of him talking him through it, can see Jim's fingers tracing the paper and pointing at various words, but Ste's eyes are hazy, unseeing.

"Ste?" Jim's voice is firm, and he snaps his fingers in front of Ste's face.

"Alright, you don't have to do that." Ste frowns, pretending that he was listening the entire time, hasn't just got lost in his own head.

"You looked a million miles away."

"Jim..." He leans forward, lowers his voice. He doesn't want to say the words too loudly, has the sudden crazy, irrational fear that Brendan can somehow hear him. "How can this...you told me that there was no chance. That I'd be here until the end of my sentence."

"Things can change. Call it good behaviour."

"Good behaviour?" Ste snorts, can still remember the taste of the moonshine on his tongue. There's been nothing good about his actions in this place.

"And a recommendation from Tony."

"Tony?" He doesn't know what to say to that; he'd been worried that with Kevin joining the cookery class, Tony had found a shiny new toy, someone to believe in and make him feel foolish over thinking for one second that Ste was something special.

"He thinks a lot of you."

Ste blushes under the attention, looking away from Jim and down at the floor, skin burning.

"No offense Ste, but you look bloody miserable."

Ste looks at him sharply. He's not miserable. He's -

He's _meant_ to be pleased. Meant to be on top of the fucking world.

"No," he says defensively. "It's just...it's a shock, isn't it? I didn't think I had a chance. How soon are we talking?"

"Next week."

Ste's grip on the table grows tighter.

"Next..." He's aware he's gawping, but he doesn't try to hide his disbelief. He was expecting to have a couple of days taken off his sentence, thought that he'd at least have time to say goodbye, to prepare himself. A week gives him nothing; how is he meant to say goodbye to Brendan in seven days? Seven days compared to the months they've spent together.

"That doesn't make sense. I mean...don't they have to do things first, before they can just let me out? Like...what's that word? Reh...rehab -"

"Rehabilitate you?" Jim asks, eyebrows raised.

"Yeah. Don't they have to do that?"

"Ste, you stole a few things from the corner shop. You're not a serial killer."

"Yeah, but -"

"Ste." Jim leans towards him on the table, eyes boring into his. "Is there something you're not telling me? Most guys would be crying into my shoulder at this news - you look like I just told you that your wife died."

"I've never even had a wife."

"You know what I mean."

"I just don't think I'm ready."

He's aware of how he sounds; Jim's face is a reflection of the insanity of his words. He feels guilt stirring within him when he imagines how hurt and bewildered Amy would be if she could hear him now. He hasn't even begun to think about how he can explain this to her. She doesn't even know Brendan exists, knows him only as a face rather than a person. The only glimpse she's had of him is when he'd knocked over a chair and made his sister reel back in shock during visiting hours, an initial impression consisting of violence and fear.

Jim picks up his briefcase, collecting his paperwork and stuffing it untidily back in.

"Look, I've got another meeting coming up. But I'll be in touch in the week, and you know you can give me a call if you need me."

Ste nods, feeling shaky on his feet when he stands. He's scared that Jim will schedule another meeting with the judge, telling him that Ste's reaction proves that he's not ready to be released.

He's even more scared that a part of him wants this to happen.

Jim leaves with a shake of the hand and a smile that wanes before fading completely. It's not the one that Ste's come to know, and it leaves him closing the door behind him in defeat, walking slowly back into the corridor.

Brendan's leaning against the wall, humming under his breath. Ste stills, using the opportunity to look at the Irishman. There's something fascinating about watching him when he's unaware of his presence. He can see the Brendan who _is_ instead of the Brendan he's trying to be. There's a nervous energy to his movements, his fingers twitching where they lie by his sides. But even with only his side profile visible, he's beautiful. Brown hair sticking up slightly in unruly tufts, a thin vest displaying the rippling muscles of his arms, and the large cross tattoo that's grazed and muddied with Ste's teeth marks.

His masculinity is startling; Ste never knew he could want someone like him. He'd gone for delicate blonds that look like they could be blown over in the breeze. Brendan's strong, solid. The opposite of everything that Ste's ever known.

When he sees Ste standing across from him, his face clears.

"Some people would find that creepy, Steven. A violation of my rights."

"Coming from the man who I once found watching me sleep."

Brendan shrugs. "I was bored, and you were the most interesting thing in the room."

"Oh, that's alright then," Ste says wryly.

It's only a distraction for a second, joking like this; he can't keep it up, and it shows.

"Are you okay?" A frown appears on Brendan's face and he uncrosses his arms, looking poised for a fight, as though the cause of Ste's discomfort is something he can physically push away.

"Not really," Ste admits, mumbling and trying to resist asking Brendan to hold him, to reassure him. He'd done it too many times with Pauline, before he realised how futile it was.

He adjusted to that rejection. He can't adjust to Brendan's.

"Can we go somewhere?"

They walk back to Brendan's cell, and Ste can feel the tension crackling between them, can feel how Brendan's trying not to question him, forcing himself to wait until Ste begins talking.

When they're alone, Ste can't hold it together anymore. He presses his face against Brendan's chest, trying to silence the gasps that are racking through his body, wanting to be released.

"Steven." He feels Brendan's hand lightly touch his hair, then begin sweeping through it.

"I'm sorry." Ste can feel how distorted his voice is. "I'm pathetic. You didn't fall in love with this."

"Look at me."

"No."

"Please."

Ste sighs, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand and daring to face Brendan.

"This is exactly what I fell in love with. You - this - this honesty. You're not like me. You don't try and hide anything."

Ste scoffs. "Except the fact that I'm seeing you and not telling the mother of my kids about it. Except the fact that I was stealing everyday and not telling her. Except the fact that I don't want to leave this place, and no one but me knows."

Brendan stares at him with amazed eyes. "What? Are you -"

"Crazy? Stupid? Yes." Ste buries his face back against Brendan's body, shame coursing through him. "Jim told me that I'm getting out in a week."

He waits for Brendan's counter argument, for him to grow furious, to not accept it.

There's silence.

"Bren? Did you hear -"

"Yes, I heard." His voice is clipped. Cold.

"I'm meant to...to want this, aren't I? It's meant to be everything that I've waited for, everything that I've dreamed of. Then why do I feel so..."

"It's shock." He feels Brendan swallow, his body lightly moving from the action. "You just need time, that's all."

"Exactly - I need _time_. Not seven fucking days."

"Steven -"

"No - don't you realise? That's all we have left together, Brendan. Things are finally - fuck, I know they're not perfect, I know that after Warren it's...but you love me, don't you?"

"You know I do." Brendan says it with such sincerity that it takes Ste's breath away, takes all the strength he has not to say it back a thousand times over, imprinting it onto his skin with his lips.

"This can't...this can't be the end." He grabs onto Brendan's shirt collar, drawing him closer and trying to silence the sound of his sniffs, so near to tears that he can almost taste them on his tongue.

He can't pretend that it's not real anymore. He can already imagine Brendan's reaction; he'll let him go. Ste can envisage it, has had half remembered nightmares of calling Brendan's name, of watching him disappear behind the gates, eyes turning black and gaze wandering until he's no longer looking at Ste, no longer seeing him at all.

Brendan's love isn't the same as a promise to stay with him.

Brendan's warm against him, but it's not enough.

"I can't leave here."

"You have to."

"No." It's a childish protest, going against logic. He knows Jim and Brendan are right - he has to go home, has to try and be the father that Leah and Lucas need, and the man that Amy deserves.

He'd be able to return to them, if he knew that he wasn't going back alone.

"What are you going to do, rot in here with me forever?"

"We can get you out - try and find some way to escape."

Brendan doesn't hide what he thinks of this particular idea. "This isn't like in the movies, Steven - I can't just build a hole in the ground. There isn't a way out."

"There has to be," Ste protests, fingers digging into Brendan's collar to try and emphasise the point. "You can't just give up."

"I'm not giving up. I'm being realistic." He sweeps a hand through Ste's hair, and Ste reels back from the touch. He doesn't want to be placated, doesn't want to be patronised with Brendan's reassurance. He can't bear it.

"Fuck being realistic."

He takes several steps back, staring at Brendan with eyes burning with something like hatred.

"Fuck being practical or sensible or smart - I'm none of those things, Brendan. I'm never going to be. But I'm always going to want you."

"Things can change," Brendan says quietly. "A couple of months, a few years - you might feel differently."

Ste laughs loudly, devoid of humour. "See, I knew you'd be like this. I knew you'd give up, that you'd find some way of saying goodbye."

"I'm not saying goodbye -"

"Fucking liar."

"Steven -"

He's never seen such a reverse of power between them. Brendan's staring at him imploringly, eyes shining and ringed with sadness. He's the frightened one now. The one who needs to be held.

"You always do this when things get tough. You walk away, do anything that'll avoid you having to try."

Ste's sure that he's going to argue back, but Brendan's shoulders sag and he stares down at the floor, chest heaving in a sigh.

"You're right." He mumbles it, possessing none of the authority that Ste's come to expect. It sounds like defeat. "I just don't see how this is going to work. You deserve someone who you can have a future with. Someone you can spend your life with."

"What I want is you. I don't know how many more times I have to say that before you get it through your thick head."

Brendan snorts lightly. "You're so romantic, Steven."

"I didn't think you were the chocolates and flowers and love letters type," Ste mutters, determined to retain his anger. This isn't a fight that Brendan's going to win.

"I'm not. I just...I want you to be...free."

"Are you going to listen to what I want?"

"Go on," Brendan says tentatively, clearly fearing the answer.

Ste pushes away from the wall that he'd been leaning on, anchoring Brendan's face in his hands before the Irishman can stop him. Ste needs him to look at him for this. Needs him to listen, realise that what he's proposing - a life spent away from each other - is impossible.

"Bren?"

He only continues when Brendan nods slightly, looking too tightly wound to reply.

"I want to stay here, with you. I'm going to kill Warren, and we're going to be together."


	37. Chapter 37

"Say something then."

"What do you expect me to say to that?"

"That you agree with what I'm going to do." Steven puts a hand on Brendan's shoulder, trying to steer him round to face him. It's been more than five minutes since Brendan looked at the boy.

"You're not going to do anything," Brendan says, voice rigid and body unmoving.

"Yes I am -"

"_No_. No, Steven."

He's thought a million times about killing Warren, and none of those scenarios have included the man dying by Steven's hands.

"Just look at me, won't you? Or do you hate me now, is that it?"

Brendan sighs, knowing that Steven's resorting to childish tactics on purpose. He reluctantly turns and meets Steven's gaze, is half afraid that he'll see something that he's never noticed before in the boy's eyes: a steely conviction not unlike the one that Brendan had the day he murdered Seamus.

"Do I look like a monster now?" Steven asks challengingly, and Brendan wants to laugh; this twenty three year old slip of a boy, arms as thin and weightless as a scarecrow's, asking him if he's become something to be feared.

"You look like you always do."

"And I still will, you know - after what I do to Warren. I'll still be the same person."

Brendan shakes his head erratically, Steven's words ringing in his ears, no viable way in which to escape from the conversation. He could run, could leave the cell, but they're living on constricted time now. Seven days left together, and he's not going to see them be squandered through arguments and the pretense that Steven could ever be a killer.

"You know why I love you, Steven?"

The boy looks shocked by the question, and unmistakably hopeful; Brendan's never done this before, never risked telling him exactly what marks him out from the rest.

"I love you because I see myself in you - the fuck ups, the family, the childhood - I see all that, but you know what I don't see? The decisions. You'd never do what I have. You'd never hurt Terry like that. You'd never screw up your kids lives. You're better than me. You make me _try_."

"No, that's not true - you're not a bad person, Brendan."

Brendan rests his hand against Steven's shoulder, needs something to steady him, likes the feel of it. He wants to close his eyes, but he knows that it'll make the images more likely to appear. They're less frequent than they used to be, and he's not under any illusion as to why: Steven's a distraction. But they still flicker at the edges of his vision, threatening to become stronger and painfully remind him of what happened on the day that he crushed Seamus's skull into pieces on the floor of the kitchen, refusing to stop until enough blood had been released and he was sure that his father was dead. He couldn't leave even that gap of doubt, that slightest possibility that he had survived.

"Do you think you can just walk away afterwards?" He says hoarsely, doesn't think that Steven's even begun to understand the implications of what he's thinking about doing.

The boy's stubbornness rears its head, can never be kept down for long.

"I'm not a kid. I know it's not going to be easy, but -"

He's cut off by the sound of Brendan's laughter, twisted and cruel.

"You're talking like it's nothing. This is murder - you're not just going to be able to forget about it."

Steven looks determined, is doing a good job of acting like this plan has been forming in his head for months instead of concocted during a panicked moment.

"He deserves it. We both know that. He's scum, a rapist - he killed his own fiancée."

"It doesn't matter what someone's done. It doesn't stop the guilt."

It's never been something he's been able to talk about before. A plea of innocence and years spent pretending he's been wrongfully convicted has resulted in him scarcely mentioning Seamus. The memories and the gnawing remorse has stayed within the confines of his own torturous, punishing thoughts. It's where he'd like it to stay, but he believes Steven, believes that the boy would kill Warren if he was pushed to it. He wants it enough. He's hungry for it.

"I'll deal with it. We'll deal with it together. Bren, please." Steven's hands are all over him, pulling his face towards him, brushing his thumbs over his cheeks and pressing their lips together until all Brendan can hear and smell and feel is him. He can't think clearly when he's like this, can't make a single rational judgement, but he can't pull away either.

It's been days since they were together, properly together, and Brendan needs him.

He gently dislodges Steven from him, the boy making a disgruntled sound.

"What are you doing?" Steven's lips are red, satisfyingly so, his eyes heavy lidded with lust and desperation.

"You're not ready for this."

"Maybe I am," Steven insists, hands trying to resume their previous frantic fumbling.

"You're not ready for any of this. And you never should be - this isn't _you_, Steven."

Brendan steps back, needing the distance.

_Seven_ _days_. He thought he had weeks left, still not nearly enough, never enough, but it was something to hold onto. Time in which to pretend to himself that he could get used to not waking up beside the boy, not seeing his face and hearing his voice, planning for a future which is as beautiful as it is impossible.

"I want to be with you." It's a moment of honesty which still feels rare, precious. Still leaves him with that disgusted voice in his head which sounds eerily similar to his father's._ A man doesn't talk like this to another man. _

But Jesus, he's told the boy he loves him. Few things can be as terrifying as that.

"I want to be with you more than anything." It's easier the second time. Easier than the lies he told Eileen, the lies he's fed to his sister.

The truth will set you free: bullshit. Except sometimes, it does.

"But not like this. You don't belong here." His eyes ghost over Steven's face, taking in his courage and his strength, more than Brendan possesses on his own. "You're so young."

"Don't give me the _I've got the rest of my life ahead of me_ line."

"It's true," Brendan insists. "It took me a long time to realise that I'm going to die here. I don't want that for you. I _can't_ have that for you."

"A life sentence doesn't mean life anymore." The boy's eyes are fiery, passionate. Shining. "You're still going to get out."

"When I'm seventy, eighty," Brendan dismisses. "Declan and Padraig will be married by then, have children of their own. And you..."

He's quiet when he thinks of the possibility of where Steven will be in thirty, forty years time. He can't win: he wants the boy to be happy, but there's a selfish, ugly part of him that wants that happiness to be a direct result of them being together. Not another man, and another man's lips, and another man's body, and another man's words.

"You'll have found someone better than me," he finishes, the images getting more vivid now. The other man is faceless, nameless, but Brendan can still see him, can see them. Steven will find someone else, he's certain of that. He won't hold on forever. He'll grow older, will forget about the three months of his life that was spent in this place, in the darkness with him.

Brendan will have the memories forever. Will spend every day of his existence remembering Steven and how he changed everything. Love has shackled him.

Steven's rejecting of this breed of truth, just as Brendan knew he would be.

"I'm never going to move on." His face is a map of horror, and Brendan desperately wants to trust that he wouldn't, that everything they've shared in here will still exist just as strongly on the outside.

But he can't summon up the bravery to believe in dreams anymore. He needs something tangible. Facts are what he relies on: the time that he has meals every day. His visiting hours. The different ways in which he can manipulate Darren Osborne. The way that he can make a man feel when he's inside him. The birthday's of his children, permanently imprinted in his mind and providing him with the continual ache that he's not with them, that he's driven them away.

Cold, hard facts are what he knows. Hope is an old, distant friend who he hasn't seen in a while. It's safer that it stays buried, the loss of it more painful than he can withstand.

Steven can see the barrier of resistance, is trying to make it crumble. He's convincing, this boy. Made Brendan fall in love with him, makes him feel the first flickers of invincibility that he's felt in years. Together, Brendan's pretty sure that they could take on the world, is filled with that old boyish desire of wanting to be Superman again.

But not here. Not like this.

"I'm going to do it." His lips are mesmerising when he pouts like this. Brendan can't take his eyes off them, hates that he wants him even in the most inappropriate of moments. "I'll get someone to help me if you don't agree to it."

"Who are you going to get - Douglas? Be careful the kid doesn't break a nail."

It makes Steven sulk harder.

"Walker. I'll ask Walker." It's like a light bulb's gone off in the boy's head. He looks smugly satisfied like he's resisting doing a victory dance, celebrating Brendan's defeat and the fact that he's managed to outwit him.

"Simon won't help you." Brendan can be pretty fucking convincing when he wants to be too, and Steven's smile falls the tiniest amount, the light going out. "He still plays for me, Steven. And he owes me."

"Yeah, but he wants to fuck me."

He's seen this side of Steven before, when he uses his own sexuality to get what he wants. But Brendan's never had it used against him.

"He won't do it." He's less confident now; Simon went to extreme lengths to separate them to begin with, and Brendan doesn't have the faith that he won't try and do the exact same thing again, creating a wedge between them and being the one to pick up the pieces if Steven's sentence is extended.

Steven sees his doubt, revels in it.

"Or, you can help me instead." He presents the idea as though it's an attractive alternative, an offer that Brendan won't be able to resist. "It'll be safer if you're involved."

"Why, because I'm an expert in killing someone?" His voice is laden with disgust. "We're not going any further in this. We're not going to talk about it." He can't bear to hear Steven planning it - the weapon to use, the day, how he'll lie to himself that he'll be unaffected by the sight of a man dying in front of him.

He's had enough.

"Sit down, Steven." He motions to the bed, knowing that his tone is irritating the boy, that he's speaking to him as though he's a child. He ignores his annoyance; it's necessary, for this conversation.

Steven reluctantly sits, back leaning against the wall, still beautifully, frustratingly defiant.

"Have you heard of Leah and Lucas?"

Steven frowns. "Yeah, of course I have, what are you on about?"

"Just testing. Seems like you forgot about them for a little while there."

Steven gets it; he crosses his arms and scowls.

"They need you, Steven. They're babies, they're not even - they're not even done turning into who they're gonna be. I didn't need a father, would have been a hell of a lot better without one, but you...you're a _good_ father. You love them. You'd go crazy never seeing them again."

The boy hasn't even thought this through. Brendan can see the dawning relisation spreading across his face and clouding his features, doubt replacing the previous stubborn certainty there.

"Amy will be there for them..." He mumbles it, voice growing softer as the sentence trails off into nothingness. It's a hollow argument and they both know it.

"They'll find out, you know - all about how their daddy is a murderer. Can you live with that?"

Steven runs his fingers through his hair, exasperated at how his plan is increasingly falling to pieces.

"They're gonna be ashamed of me no matter what, aren't they? When they get older, and they find out about how I was in here, how I lied about being in bloody Benidorm..." Steven shakes his head, laughing. He tries to get up from the bed, and Brendan can tell that he's going to try and coax him around to his way of thinking, has that expression that Brendan can never resist, hands already preparing to be placed on Brendan's hips, running his fingers along them.

"Don't." Brendan puts a hand up warningly, needs Steven to stop, can't let him even begin to halfway convince him. "We might not even be together. They could move you at any moment - to another block, to another prison. Someplace where I can't be there to protect you."

Steven opens his mouth to protest, closing it when Brendan's eyes tell him to not even try.

"Nowhere will employ you even if you do ever get released. Cooking, your own business - you can kiss that goodbye."

Steven sinks into the bed, and Brendan firmly hopes that it's in defeat.

"Don't you want to be with me? You say that you do, but..." His voice is so small, so utterly childlike that some of Brendan's anger thaws, and he allows himself to sit beside Steven, not touching but keeping himself near him, always near him.

"I don't want you to be anything like me."

"That's not what I asked."

If he could give anything to Steven, it would be a shred of self belief. The knowledge that he's worth something, so much more than he thinks. That you can't _not_ fall in love with Steven Hay.

He ignores the question. This isn't about his feelings; it's about making Steven see the impossibility of the situation that he's presenting.

"Do you still honestly want to do this? After everything I've said, do you want to stay here with me?"

Steven's eyes look silver with tears that are on the brim of escaping.

"Yes."

"Come here tonight, Steven. I need to tell you something, and then you can decide if you still want to fuck up your future for me."

Steven sighs at his tone, but there's curiosity in his eyes.

"Where are you going?"

"You still want me to see Desmond, don't you?"

"Yeah."

Brendan rises from the bed, smoothing down his shirt which Steven had tugged at greedily to get to the skin underneath.

"Stay with Simon until I get back." He says it with difficultly, but knows that he has to get past that: even with Warren in hospital and Silas being questioned, there's still that risk. There's always that risk.

"Bren..." The boy sounds nervous. "Can't you just tell me now? Instead of tonight."

Brendan opens the door, is unsurprised to see Simon already outside, seems to sense when to come like Brendan's ringing an invisible bell.

"Tonight, Steven," he says emphatically.

He needs to build up the strength to find the words.

* * *

"How are you?"

Ste looks at Walker from across the pool table. They'd moved to the game's room shortly after Brendan had left. Ste felt too exposed on the bed, too trapped with Walker in the small cell. He could sense the man's eyes on him as he lay on the mattress, every hike of Ste's t-shirt making Walker stare that much harder.

He's never been a fan of pool, too much need for coordination and skill for his tastes. He's losing, badly. But it's a distraction, and he needs one now; his mind is churning with what Brendan could possibly say to make him change his mind.

"I'm alright." It's a lie of the highest order, and Simon can see right through him, cocking his eyebrows. "No one ever wants to really hear the answer to that question."

"I do." Simon aims with his pool cue like a pro, not even attempting to go easy on him.

"How do you think I am?" Ste challenges, hates these stupid, ridiculous questions. He knows that they come from a place of care, even with this man. But the answer is all too obvious.

"Probably feeling worse than you've ever felt in your life."

Ste stills, startled by Simon's frankness.

"Got it in one," he concedes. He hadn't thought that anything could feel worse than what Pauline and Terry had done. What he'd done to Amy.

He never expected to feel that bad again.

"Have you heard?"

Walker leans against the table, long lithe body on display. "What?"

"Thought you'd know everything that goes on in this place."

Ste makes a shot, cursing when the ball flies off the table spectacularly. Some of the men standing in close proximity chortle, but Walker doesn't join them. He retrieves the ball, handing it to Ste.

"Surprise me."

"I'm getting out of here in a week." He waits for the look of happiness to spread across Walker's face, the knowledge that he's won, that he and Brendan are being separated.

The older man simply stares at him.

"You don't want to leave." It's not a question; it's a mere observation. He already knows.

"I don't want to leave Brendan," Ste corrects, feels like he needs to differentiate between them, in part so he doesn't sound completely insane.

"You can still see each other. Conjugal visits," he says with a grin.

"You've known Brendan for years - does he seem like the type to stay with someone?"

"I didn't think so. But you've lasted this long."

"Yeah, in here. When he's got nothing else, and I'm readily available."

"You make yourself sound like a fast food meal."

It raises a smile from Ste, however dim and begrudging.

"Would you wait? If someone asked you to? If Kevin asked you." He struggles to say the boy's name, forces it out between gritted teeth. The idea of being in the same room as Kevin for more than an hour makes him feel violent; he can't contemplate the possibility of being in a relationship with him.

Simon snorts, making another winning shot. "Kevin's just a fling."

Ste feels oddly satisfied at how quick Simon is to disregard him, has the childish, irrational urge to race and find Kevin himself, tell him that that's two men who he's been rejected by.

"But if it was the right person." Simon looks at him from under his lashes, eyes locked on Ste's. "Then I could wait."

Ste shifts uncomfortably, distracting himself by fiddling with the cue.

"Simon?" Ste knows that the man likes it when he calls him by his first name. His eyes alight with it.

"Hmmm?" His hum sounds strangely, effortlessly musical.

"If I asked you for a favour..."

"Ah, and here comes the catch."

"What?" Ste asks, pretending to be dumfounded.

"I knew you were being far too polite."

"Shut up." Ste hits with the cue, missing again. "It's only a tiny one."

He's not even close to telling the truth, is downplaying what he wants to do, and something in Simon's expression tells him that he realises it. Ste's never been good at keeping the nervous anticipation from his voice.

"Go on."

"What if I just...didn't leave?" He says it lightly, as though it's nothing, thinks that if he makes it seem meaningless then Simon will believe it is, will agree without a moments pause.

His casual tone doesn't seem to work.

"What are you talking about, Ste?" Simon's voice is harsh, his stance stiff, eyes sweeping over Ste's face so that he feels like he's being assessed.

Ste's palms begin to grow clammy. His main interactions in the past few years have consisted of Amy and two young children; even after almost three months here, he's still not adept at keeping his cool around men older and stronger and more intimidating than him.

He's sure that Simon already knows exactly what he's going to tell him. He can see the fury developing, the counter argument already being formed.

"Warren deserves to be put in his place, doesn't he?"

Simon shakes his head, not a denial of Ste's words but a denial of the idea, of what he's planning. He knows; Ste doesn't have to explain anything.

"Don't you fucking dare, kid."

When he'd broached the subject, Ste hadn't expected this. Simon isn't Brendan: he'd anticipated an altogether different reaction, had imagined the man agreeing to help him. Not this coldness and anger sparking within him.

"You don't even -"

"I know exactly what you're plotting in that little head of yours."

Ste feels insulted: _little?_

"All I'm asking is for you to help me, maybe keep watch while I..." Ste lowers his voice, knows how people love to eavesdrop in this place, nothing else to do but gather gossip and use it for their own means. "You know..." _Kill him. Kill Warren. _

Simon puts the cue down, doesn't look like he's in the mood to play anymore games.

"You're not throwing your life away for him."

"You sound like Brendan."

"I get it. You tell him, he doesn't agree to it, so you come running to me? Why, because I'm more morally deficient?"

"Got it in one," Ste says boldly, frustration replacing his fear. "I'm not asking for much."

Simon leaves his side of the table, walking towards Ste. He feels distinctly like his prey, the older man's eyes penetrating and dark.

When he reaches Ste he doesn't touch him, just stops inches away from his face and stares him down, but Ste holds his own. If he shows Simon that he's scared then he has no chance of getting him to agree to this. And he _has_ to agree. Doug won't help him - won't do anything to risk his chance of being with Lynsey, can't be haunted by another face that he's helped to rob the life from.

Even with Ethan's motive, Ste can already picture the reluctance there. He won't take the chance, won't do anything just in case the plan backfires and Warren makes it out alive.

Simon's his only option.

The man's voice is clipped, full of the authority and command that Ste wishes he possessed.

"You can beg for a thousand years. You can offer to suck my cock. I'm still never going to help you do this."

Ste's mouth closes, his words dying on his lips.

Walker creates a distance between them once more, stacking the balls to signify an end to their game, and gestures for Ste to follow him as though they never had this exchange at all.

* * *

"So I guess this is...you know..." Brendan waits for Desmond to finish his sentence, to fill in the missing gaps, the Irishman motioning with his hands to try and make him understand when his gaze remains blank.

Desmond sits back in his chair, expression neutral. He doesn't help, acts like he's waiting for Brendan to resume the conversation.

Brendan sighs, doesn't even attempt to make it quiet. He had hoped this would be easier.

"This is the end, isn't it?" He finally finishes.

"The end of what?"

Brendan doesn't know if Desmond's being dense on purpose.

"The sessions."

Desmond's eyebrows raise the smallest amount, a question there.

"Why would that be?"

Brendan's words feel caught in his throat; he didn't expect this. Had thought that it would be obvious to the man, that he'd be the one to initiate this exchange.

"I missed yesterday's session."

"Yes, you did." Desmond's voice sounds unaffected, distinctly unmoved as though he's stating a fact.

Brendan leans forward on the chair, wants to know the catch. Wants to know why Desmond's not throwing him out.

"That's it, is it?" He probes when the man continues to not respond. "You're not even going to tell me off?"

"You're not a child, Brendan. This isn't school."

"I thought there would be consequences."

"Thought or hoped?"

Brendan rolls his eyes, letting Desmond see. He hasn't missed the psychobabble, the questions being thrown back in his direction.

Desmond stares at him curiously. "Maybe you wanted me to tell you that that's it - that you're off the hook."

"Don't try and get inside my head." Brendan ignores the fact that this is the whole point of these sessions. It's never going to be a comfortable place for him to be: someone probing and prodding and trying to tear down the walls.

The man doesn't seem wounded by the slight.

"I'm not going to stop our sessions," he says quietly, and Brendan doesn't know how to react, doesn't know whether the corners of his mouth are twitching with surprise or disgust; the two are blended together so seamlessly in this room, in the presence of this man.

Brendan tries to regather his composure. The last session had been a slip up, a fatal error in judgement. He'd mentioned Seamus, and then Steven had been hurt, had got taken away from him and violated. It's the domino effect: he opens up, and everything falls down.

"I suppose you want to know where I was?" He asks acidly, anger peppering his voice.

"Only if you want to tell me."

Brendan huffs a laugh; he's _sure_ that Desmond's dying to ask. Perhaps he's even disappointed that he has to, considers their previous meeting as progress that Brendan's now tarnishing.

"I just didn't want to come." His eyes are blank, lines of his face harsh and unforgiving as he stares at the man opposite him, his voice sounding as though he has a million better things he could be doing right now.

His conversation throughout the session is cold and detached, but he still doesn't leave. He puts it down to Steven and the boy's voice in his head telling him that he needs to do this.

He blocks out the fact that he knows there's his own voice, growing stronger by the day. It tells him to stay and sit this through, that however tedious and difficult it is, Seamus would have hated him to be in a place like this, talking to a person who wants to unlock everything that he's kept buried.

There's a type of satisfaction in that, and he draws strength from it.

* * *

Doug's all over him, ruffling his hair and holding him in a bear hug. His accent seems to get more pronounced when he's excited, and Ste would almost find it amusing if he could share his joy. Instead he stands, uncomfortable and fidgety and waiting for the display of happiness to pass. Needs it to pass. He doesn't feel involved, paints on a smile that wilts and burns.

He'd been reluctant to spend the entire afternoon with Simon, had anticipated it at the beginning of the day, trying to form an idea in his mind, envisioning them working out the ins and outs of the plan. Once that had dissipated he'd told Simon that he wanted to find his friends, letting the sting settle in for the man, the fact that he clearly wasn't counted as one of them.

Ste's grateful for the change of company, but he wishes that he'd waited longer to tell Doug his news. It's not a topic that he'll be deterred from; Ste can see it already.

"This is amazing. Amy must be so happy!"

"She doesn't know yet." He can't quite meet Doug's eyes.

"What? Why?"

Ste squirms, knows that it's only a matter of time before Doug sees his hesitance and begins to connect the dots.

"I just haven't got around to it." It's a poor excuse. She should have been the first person he told.

"Phone her now."

"No." It comes out more harshly than he wants, and Doug raises his eyebrows at him, a wordless question: explain yourself. "I just want time for it to sink in."

He just about gets away with it, making it sound plausible like the shock has yet to settle. Ste's barely aware of Doug's words as his mind churns, knows what he should be feeling, but nothing's coming, only a steady, sinking dread.

"This is exactly what you need, Ste. I just wish..." He sees Doug's lip wobble the smallest amount, is disarmed by the sudden influx of emotion.

"Doug?"

"I just wish it had happened sooner. Before Warren could..."

"I know." Ste doesn't want to hear the end of that sentence.

"We haven't really talked about it -" Doug begins, his cheeks warming with embarrassment.

"I don't want to," Ste interjects. He expected this, knew that Doug would want to have this conversation, be eager for Ste to know that he cares.

He gets it, understands the care. But he can't talk about it again.

"Thank you for...the offer," the trails off lamely. "I really do appreciate it. But I..."

"It's okay. I understand. It's too much."

Ste nods, turning away to stop Doug from seeing him come apart for a second.

"Just imagine everything we're going to do when we get out. You, me, Lynsey."

"I thought you two weren't going to be seen in public together for a while?"

Doug's face falls. Ste could kick himself.

"Well yeah, but...once things have died down." He's quieter now, eyes on the floor.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have said that." Ste mumbles, doesn't know whether drawing attention to the awkwardness is going to make things better or worse, but he feels the need to say something.

"No, you're right. If she loses her job, then...I don't know if we could survive that."

"Of course you could. She cares about you more than some poxy prison teaching job. No offense," Ste quickly adds.

"Yes, I'm sure she'll be delighted to be with her unemployed convict boyfriend when she gets fired."

Ste turns round, would recognise that voice anywhere, had almost expected to be interrupted. Simon can't leave him alone for a damn minute, thinks that he needs to be babysat like some wayward child.

"No one was talking to you, were they?"

Simon smirks, nonplussed.

"Can't you learn to knock one day?"

"There's no fun in knocking."

Ste scowls, hates how this man has an answer for everything, thinks he's being witty and intelligent when he's a constant pain in his arse.

"Walker, we're trying to talk here -"

Ste admires Doug for the effort, but it doesn't take much for him to get shot down; a glare from Simon and he closes his mouth, blinking rapidly like the rest of his body is paralysed.

"You can't just do that to him." Ste's in the mood to be brave; these last few days have taught him that he can survive. There's not much that he hasn't come back from.

"Don't get all sulky with me just because I didn't agree to your plan."

Ste freezes, doesn't move or speak, just waits. Sure enough, it happens.

"What plan?"

He hears the curiosity and edge of concern in Doug's voice, hardly dares to breath as he looks at Simon, waiting to see what the man's reaction will be. He sees a smile there; Simon knows how much power he holds, knows that Ste would never hear the end of it if Doug were to find out about what he wants to do to Warren.

Simon stares back at him, a silent proposition for Ste to speak first.

"It doesn't matter," he says, softly but with a firm edge. If Doug finds out then he'll have no chance of following through.

"No, come on. What does he mean?" Doug glances between them. The longer the silence stretches, the more panic floods to Doug's features. He's not an idiot; Ste's underestimated how well he's come to know him.

"It's just Walker playing his stupid games, isn't it?" Ste dismisses, shooting him a private glare that's a warning. "He's always pulling ridiculous stunts like this, isn't he?"

"You're forgotten that I'm the one who saved you, Ste." There's a lightness to Simon's voice that sounds false.

"Did you expect me to thank you?" Ste sneers. Nothing in him feels grateful for what Simon did. Nothing in him feels saved. "I will never thank you."

He ignores the sound of Doug calling him and Walker racing to catch up with him as he leaves the room, striding down the hallway and making his way to the therapy centre. Brendan's session will almost be over, and he can't wait any longer. Can't be with someone who he's keeping a secret from, and can't be with a man who refuses to help him.

He needs to know what Brendan wants to tell him.

* * *

"How was the session?"

"It was okay." Brendan's all grunts and limited eye contact. Ste's used to it - knows that this is how he gets after therapy. It can take him hours to recover from it sometimes, to go back to being _his_ Brendan. The one without the mask.

Ste wants to draw it out of him. He doesn't want Brendan to change his mind and delay the conversation any longer.

They've got Ste's cell to themselves. Doug grumbled at first, less of an objection at Brendan and more of a protest of the ending of their last talk. Ste knows he's itching to find out about his plan, can imagine Doug going directly to Simon, putting aside their animosity to discover the truth.

He's confident enough of Simon's dislike for him to trust that he won't reveal any more.

Brendan surprises him, suddenly drawing him into a hug, hand on the back of Ste's hair and stroking. After the initial shock he settles into it, breathing in the scent of the man and closing his eyes.

It's easy to forget what he wanted to talk about. He could do this forever.

"What's this for?" He can't help asking. Brendan's getting better at this, body loose and slack when he holds him now, most of the discomfort at such an intimate gesture being silenced. But it still feels like a rarity. Ste never wants to forget how this feels, that certainty for a moment that he's loved.

"Because I wanted to," Brendan says simply. "And because you're probably not going to like me much after what I have to tell you."

Ste takes in a breath, half relieved and half terrified that Brendan isn't trying to avoid what he promised. He knows that something so important shouldn't be spoken through a hug, but it's tempting to stay like this, engulfed in heat, so wonderfully secure.

Ste kisses him on the cheek before they part, mouth brushing against the merest traces of stubble. It makes him wonder if any part of Brendan isn't covered with hair. The masculinity excites him, even after all this time.

"You might want to sit down."

Ste laughs, partly out of nervousness. It's what people say before they deliver bad news. It reminds him of death.

Brendan sits alongside him, seeming reluctant to face him. There's a confidence behind his words though, a confidence that tells Ste that he means this, that what he's about to say is coming from a place of honesty.

"I'm not going to change my mind." Ste says it hurriedly, needs to get the words out and make Brendan understand that whatever he reveals in this room, he's not going to back out. He wants Warren dead, and he wants to be the one to do it.

"I think I fell in love with your stubbornness," Brendan says softly, sounding like he's speaking to himself more than to Ste.

"Then you'll let me do this."

"No."

"Yes -"

"No, Steven. Just...stay quiet for once in your life, yeah? And if you still want to do this after what I have to tell you, then..."

"You'll let me?" Ste asks hopefully.

"No, but I'll be nicer in the ways I go about stopping you."

Ste sighs, never thought that this would be easy but he hadn't envisaged this; didn't think that Brendan would be so adverse to him hurting someone who they both despise.

"Go on then."

Brendan grips the mattress, fingers digging in. Ste can see the veins on his forehead, purple and vivid.

"I'm going to tell you about the day I killed my father."


End file.
